How To Save A Life
by Bloomhunger
Summary: Struggling to stay alive, Aerith reaches out for the only source of comfort within reach. But when this person is Sephiroth and he like her is at someone else's mercy, lines blur and definitions become obsolete in a desperate fight to survive emotional and physical trauma. Even after pain fades to memory, can they be enough to sustain life in a world that is no longer theirs?
1. Prologue

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Prologue: Circumstances**

* * *

„ _In the light of recent events in the North Crater, a team of ambitious scientists lead by Professor Akira has left Midgar to uncover the nature of the strange activity recently registered in the deepest known cavity of the expanse. Both the World Regenesis Organisation and the ShinRa Scientific Research Institute reassured us that there was 'no reason to worry' in their joint press release this morning and that a reason for the unnaturally high mako levels measured would soon be uncovered. The excursion to the research site is set to last a full month before the scientists are scheduled to return to evaluate their findings. Alongside Prof. Akira and his assistent Dr. Med. Grayle, seven researchers including geologists, physicists and biotechnicians are joining the expedition that, according to inside sources, could easily bring forth ground breaking results, as has almost all research conducted in the Crater so far. As always, we will be covering the events meticulously so make sure to tune in for the latest updates."_

A young man straightened his glasses and gave a nasal snort in disgust. As usual, the plebeian crowd was spoon fed only the fraction of information deemed appropriate for such simple minds and as a result, his visionary work was slighted, reduced to nothingness, by the lack of intellect in the crowd collective. Worthless, the lot of them. His ideas, his visions for the future of science, of medicine, were unparalleled and if he found what he was looking forward, human kind – or a part of it – would face a shining future in a new and shining world.

He reached to push his glasses further upward on his nose, as they had slipped for the umpteenth time that morning as he sat, hunched as ever, in the helicopter carrying him and the just barely competent people accompanying him north. Hand-picked and yet he was disappointed in the utter lack of vision in their educated minds. Still, they were the brightest heads in the world and he supposed they would be of some use, though he had no doubt that they would screw up as much as they did right. Beside him sat a younger man, the only one in the blasted vehicle that he held a modicum of respect for. Artemis Grayle was a fine doctor, a medical genius, specialised in enhancement surgery and genetic modification, and had proven himself useful a great number of times. Much like himself, science was all this blond, blue eyed Junonite deemed worth of his time and thus, the pair of them often found themselves locked away in the laboratories for weeks on end, only speaking when strictly necessary and only leaving their workstations to take care of maintaining nutrition and expel the resulting waste products. It was a symbiotic relationship, Akira found, in which he benefited from the very creative and practical approach advocated by the younger scientist who, in return, gained access to a (limited) portion of the vast knowledge acquired by both Akira himself and that of his predecessor, Prof. Hojo. Hojo's exceptional mind. Of course the latter's intellect had been reduced to charts and reports, diaries and logs recorded in the past before he had been killed in cold blood. Still the fragments of the brilliant scientist's visions remained, currently locked in Akira's private laboratory in Midgar. Safe and out of sight of those who argued that he, Akira, was too extreme in his ambitions just like Hojo had once been.

The murmur among the researchers aboard rose to new volume when, outside, their destination came into view. In an almost reflexive motion, the green-eyed professor smoothed back the sleek black hair that crowned his head that was almost more hawk-like than human in appearance due to his unfortunate genetic inheritance. The glasses on his nose could easily have been replaced with a quick, painless procedure to his optic nerve but ironically, he had chosen to forego surgery arguing that since he could not perform it himself since it required general anesthesia, he would have to trust someone else to not blind him, which, in turn, was out of the question. And thus, he remained bespectacled in addition to hunched in posture and greasy in hair. But what was a flawed physique when compared to superior intellect?

His eyes flickered to the eight men and women seated around him, gaping out the window like school children and he clicked his tongue in distaste. None of them were aware just what they were about to bring back to where it belonged, but oh Minerva, were they about to find out. He smirked, a crooked, almost crazed grin breaking on his face reminiscent of other nightmares long since gone.

* * *

 _'WRO & ShinRa: Breakthrough in the North! Scientists uncover uncategorised, exposed mako source. _

_Even after the reactors built by the former ShinRa Electric Company were shut down in favour of more sustainable energy resources, mako continues to seep from the ground and form pools that require immediate attention. Long-time effects of exposure to unrefined mako or prolonged usage of materia can cause severe medical conditions such as various types of cancer, auto-immune disease and a myriad of conditions of the reproductive system.'_

Deeper, they had to venture deeper into the cavernous system if they were to find what they looked for. The scientist tipped his thin finger against his thinner lips, lost in contemplation. In front of him, a crystalline structure, broken and shattered, hinting at it's destruction at the hands of someone or something else at some other point in time. He was searching for something similar – something oh so similar and yet inherently different. The crystallisation of something – someone – different from the person who had once been encased here, slumbering where the one he searched for was not asleep but dead to the world.

„Professor, we can begin our descent. The mako flow has been halted temporarily, granting us a window of opportunity that should last long enough to reach the chamber."

He smirked, the excitement in his assistant's voice almost palpable. It was almost a joy to watch the younger scientist scurry in the face of greatness.

„How long?"

„Estimated two hours."

Excellent.

* * *

' _North Crater: Scientists uncover mysterious crystal formation containing unknown organic material'_

It was perfect. Grayle's jaw threatened to hang open, making him appear more the awestruck school boy than the studied academic, in the face of this spectacular sight. Perfect, pristine material underneath unyielding, transparent crystal. And it was all theirs.

* * *

' _North Crater Expedition Ended! Scientists to return to Midgar on May 13_ _th_ _alongside their findings.'_

 _'Breaking News: Helicopter containing Crater Expedition team crashed! Only two surviving scientists confirmed.'_

* * *

„ _In the wake of the accident in which six members of the intellectual elite and scientific community were lost to a tragic helicopter crash, the two remaining scientists, Prof. Akira and Dr. Grayle have returned to Midgar in what can only be described as a state of severe shock and grief. Grayle went on record at his arrival, stating that 'our findings were due to their clarity of mind, their brilliance and their visionary ideas and they will be dearly missed'. Prof. Akira was unable to comment on the tragic accident and is reported to be distraught by the loss of his colleagues. The findings, that these brilliant men and women sacrificed their lives to procure, have been securely transferred to the care of Prof. Akira and Dr. Grayle who hope to uncover something significant in their analysis, if only to insure that their colleagues didn't die in vain. Rachel Crown, MIDGAR News."_

„It seems, our ruse has been both bought and paid for, Professor," the sleek voice of one Dr. Grayle echoed through the otherwise silent laboratory in Sector 0 where different labs belonging to different scientists working for the same, re-branded company had once worked tirelessly on different projects to benefit different goals. The sterile environment was state of the art, a fortune spent to ensure that nothing was missing. It was every scientists' wet dream with machinery and equipment to carry out even the most difficult of procedures. And here he was, three years out of university, watching Prof. Akira work magic. When applying for the job, he had expected the dark-haired man to be much older than the thirty-two years he had turned out to be. He seemed older too, his hunched posture and awkward shuffle hardly added to the image of the youthful research god, but it mattered little in the end. He was brilliant and ruthless – much like he imaged that Prof. Hojo had been when he had been, well, alive. Grayle's eyes flickered to the centrepiece of the room. A large, stainless steel prism welded to the floor served as an operating table and was currently occupied, an immobile form lying ready for inspection.

It had been almost ecstatic, the feeling, when they had found it. It had been pristine, perfectly preserved. Nothing marred the unparalleled, lethal beauty of the specimen contained in the crystal. The look in the professor's eyes had been one of awe and calculating madness as they had dislodged their findings only to swiftly repackage it so that it's nature would remain concealed from prying eyes. They had travelled north to find it and found it they had. And once the disposable idiots had been taken care of, well, all that had been left to do was take the specimen back to Midgar, to the laboratory where it had all begun.

Grayle sighed and rotated his shoulders to get rid of the stiffness in them. The specimen lay lifeless on the steel table while the Professor worked a few feet away, almost as if disinterested in the flawless creation at his mercy. He knew it not to be so, however. The professor was _very_ interested, almost obsessed with what he had found. It was a relic of their predecessor's brilliant work, his greatest creation and now it was theirs, the perfect specimen returned to science's hands.

His eyes flickered anew, this time to two cylindrical chambers on the far side of the laboratory, filled with the luminescent glow that only mako could bestow. They would serve an equally visionary purpose soon enough, hold potential just as pristine and enormous as the one the steel table currently cradled.

Grayle found himself grow impatient. It was only a matter of time until the main components to the largest experiment ever conducted on living specimens were assembled in this very room. Akira seemed fairly calm, considering how close they were to continue the work of the greatest mind ever to grace the wretched planet. But then again, the professor was always fairly calm, collected in an almost maniacal way. It made little sense, but even through bipolar episodes of maniacal ecstasy and listless depression, he never seemed to lose his composure.

A bone-chilling scream desperate enough to awaken even the dead echoed throughout the space, stemming from the isolation unit in the annex to the laboratory expanse. It should have forced his blood to curdle, chills to run down his spine and horror to spread on his face but instead, his heart fluttered in excitement. He had expected it to take another couple of hours but it seemed, he had been wrong. He hated being wrong. Another quick look to the lifeless body lying on the table and then, the blond surgeon moved, noting how his superior did not move at all despite the voice that seemed to tear the air with it's volume and it's terror. Women did have annoyingly squeaky voices, he thought, wondering if her vocal cords were instrumental to their project of if he could convince the professor to let him sever them. It would make their life so much easier.

He pressed his hand to the control panel controlling access to the isolation unit containing the screaming and trashing mass of chromosomes he had waited for so long to see breathe life anew. The door swept open and unveiled the second specimen, no longer limply lying in the glass cage constructed to keep the woman who was so much more than just a woman safe from everything but their eyes and hands. He and Akira were going to change the world. And all they needed to do so, were these two perfectly imperfect specimens that had been wasted for so long. Grayle smiled and slipped through the door.

* * *

A/N.: While I haven't abandoned my other AeriSeph story, this has been sitting around for too long and needs to be published. I appreciate all kinds of feedback.


	2. Chapter I

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter I**

* * *

The first impulse to make it from neuron to synapse and then into being within the frail body's subconscious mind, was to scream. Scream bloody murder, scream hue and cry until her vocal cords refused her service. Cold heat shot through her veins, making breathing a feat impossible to accomplish and clear thought a distant memory. Icy agony crawled under her skin, etching away at her essence and green fire clawed at her sanity as she struggled to thrash but could not move.

Disorientation had long since settled within her shaken up consciousness and no voice rung pure in her head while cold, vile hands held her in an iron grip, negating any and all struggles for freedom and relief. Still she screamed, eyes firmly shut and open wide all at once, bright lights blinding her, where soothing blackness would have been welcomed. She sobbed, sighed, moaned and screamed, screamed until her throat hurt which was instantaneously and then she carried on, frenzied in her pain.

The air was cold and hurtful, promising torture just like the smell of disinfectant and ether that lingered in her nose. Shuffling sounds echoed throughout the space and were loud in her ears and her head ached as she tried to focus but failed. She felt the hands, gloved by the feel of them on her skin, drag and tear and shove her but she stumbled, her feet not even touching the ground. She gasped for air, screaming in agony in the process but she couldn't seem to breathe. Suddenly she felt a piercing sensation and gasped anew and then, she froze in her weak thrashing. No longer would her limbs respond and her eyes flew open once more, panicked green irises flying from face to featureless face covered in masks and glasses and hair obscured by disposable caps. She felt herself go limp on a cold surface, lights above her brighter than the sun in the sky she had always feared. She shivered, still immobile and at the mercy of gloved, prodding hands wielding instruments and shoving needles in her arms, releasing all kinds of different poisons into her throbbing veins. No screams came though she tried to voice them but it seemed even her vocal chords were incapable of movement. Her heart pounded against her ribs, working too hard to sustain the life newly awakened in her limb body.

„Subject Beta, female."

Beta? That wasn't her name, was it? No that couldn't be it. She tried to move, to scream once again, to correct them. Aerith, that was her name! Aerith, not Beta! They were wrong and they were scaring her and they were hurting her and they were wrong!

„Legal name: Aerith Gainsborough. Biological age: twenty-two years old. Born to Ifalna and Prof. Faremis Gast, making her a Cetra-human hybrid. Resurrected 23 years post-mortem. Hypotensive and tachycardic post-reanimation. Sedated and injected with doxacurium chloride to induce paralysis in preparation for adaptation to ventilation and peripheral parenteral nutrition pre-hydro-submersion for quarantine isolation."

So many words and she scarcely understood one, _resurrection_ echoing in her head, fighting the world to stay awake at all while she still wished for sleep. Pain still dulled all other sensation and still she struggled against her own immobile limbs, against the bright light and the rough hands that handled her carefully but roughly. Gloves grasped her jaw and forced it open in a mechanical motion, and for a second she thought that she could grasp eyes, human eyes, behind thick glasses in a covered face. A tube was shoved down her throat and she tried to fight it but lost. She felt sick, gagging at the unwanted intrusion, but nothing happened. Then, her view shifted when she was removed from the cold steel underneath her and raised to a vertical position, still unable to move. She was held by the arms, more carried and dragged than standing, her head lulling forward as her neck refused to support it's weight.

Her feet dragged across stainless floor as she was pulled, her back to her destination, her head trailing on the operating table on which she had been lying seconds ago and the scattered utensils on it. Her green eyes, so vibrant in the steel, cold setting of this purgatory, flickered desperately, tears spilling onto her too pale cheeks as she felt her body surrendering and the fight in her mind dissipating, yielding to a tired motionlessness. Then, silver entered her field of view, almost liquid, molten in it's pale vibrancy that put steel to shame. A different table, similar to the one she had left, and motionless limbs, similar to hers. Pale skin, silver covered lay immobile and she wondered why the colour familiar and what awaited it's owner, the equally naked and vulnerable and probably suffering person who, unlike her, was not conscious enough to fight the tube in his mouth.

Silver lingered in her mind and she kept her eyes focused on it as pain continued to tear at her sanity and crawl her veins incessantly. And when liquid, hot and searing and icy and cold all at once, engulfed her, and her vision blurred as she found that she could no longer move even her eyelids, she kept her stare fixed forcibly on the silvery strands that jerked her mind and memory and heart when nothing else made sense.

„Subject is stable. Systolic blood pressure measured at one-ten over seventy diastolic. Heart rate stable at forty-three beats per minute. Temperature stable at thirty-six point five degrees Celsius."

Dr. Grayle tore the surgical mask from his face, unveiling a satisfied face as he stared at the immobile woman floating in translucent liquid in the chamber behind the thick glass. Central lines and other intravenous tubes were connected to the console on the left side of the chamber, making it possible to keep her alive and secured at all times. Paralysis was a curious thing. Her wide, green eyes were open and he knew that she could see him as he stood there, watching calmly as panic emanated from every inch of her in her unmoving glory. The tube in her mouth was secured and obscured the lower half of her pretty face. A shame, he thought, but put aside the unprofessional urge that threatened to resurface. Her kind was not for him. She was a subject, a sample and specimen to be studied and worked on and to serve a greater purpose than human satisfaction. Days ago, she had been dead. Gone, from the world, ice cold and buried in a watery grave up north. But now, here she was, alive and breathing, still floating in water. The last Cetra, in their hands, to use and study for the betterment of science and human kind at some point.

* * *

„Grayle, adrenalin."

He turned from the tube he was admiring to face the professor who had swiftly returned to the other subject in their care. The other one who was equally inhuman as the Ancient girl, and who was much more likely to cause problems if past experiences were anything to go by. Grayle frowned. It was uncanny how well preserved the specimen had been in the crystal, muscles not the slightest bit atrophied or skin decayed. Everything about their second, or first subject, depending on how you looked at it, was flawless and it angered him to an insane degree while it fascinated his senior colleague. The pinnacle of physical perfection, created by science decades ago, unconscious on _his_ operating table and he was supposed to wake him up.

„I'll inform security."

The professor's head shot up, confusion on his face for a second before he snapped irritably, gesturing to vent his annoyance.

„Yes, yes, but hurry!"

There was something unnatural about the way the professor stared at the immobile body on the table, just like there had been something crazed about the way he had laughed when they had first found him, encased in crystal. Then again, how could he blame him? The most flawless creature ever created by science was within his grasp.

Without hesitating further, Grayle turned and walked to the communication unit to call security. They would surely need it, all things considered.

„Fifteen minutes, Professor Akira," he finally said, hanging up the PHS and returning to the operating table, every bit the surgeon he truly was. Neither he nor his colleague paid any heed to the verdant irises trailed on the person on their table or the panic and pleading they tried to convey. Instead their gazes lingered on the still form before them and the tablet computing units on which they charted every last movement they made in this experiment of all experiments. Human experimentation had been banned years ago by the WRO but since this scientific venture was shrouded in secrecy and given the fact that neither of the subjects involved could truly be described as human, there was little to be afraid of.

The professor scribbled furiously, the electronic pen violently scratching the surface of the tablet when all it needed to do to function was to hover above it. The nervous energy in the room was palpable to everyone in it, safe for the one causing it. The female had been easy to handle. Too frail and disoriented to know what was going on an just as susceptible to drugs as any human would be. The same, however, didn't count for their second subject. He was different. Already modified both genetically and biochemically, he would not be subdued as easily by a simple neuromuscular paralytic. If they weren't capable he'd snap them like twigs when he woke up, violence as much a part of his record as it was ingrained in his mind. Science had aimed to create the perfect weapon, a super-human soldier by all standards and they had succeeded. They would have to be very, very careful.

Grayle had argued in preparation months ago, that waking him up wasn't necessary but the professor had disagreed countering his arguments at every turn. They had to assess his neurological health, making sure that hibernation and death hadn't done any harm to either nervous system or brain function. And what was more, they could not keep him comatose forever, his – or it's - cells adapting too quickly to new circumstances, forever evolving and fighting for dominance over whatever would impair him. They had made him for that exact purpose. Drugging him would only last them so long. Also it would be significantly harder for the psychological part of the experiment to progress if their specimens remained comatose or unresponsive.

The door to the laboratory slid open and four armed men entered, nodding in respect to the professor who paid them no heed. He put down the charting device and stood, cracking his neck in the process and smiling wickedly underneath his surgical mask. Grayle replaced his, mimicking the motion and awaiting orders.

„Well, it took you long enough," the professor scolded impatiently, a thinly veiled look of disgust thrown carelessly at the guards that gave no replies.

„Grayle, present the case."

The younger researcher nodded before clearing his throat and doing as he was bid.

„Subject Alpha, male. Legal Name: Sephiroth, former Soldier 1st Class. Biological age: twenty-eight years old. Born to Professor Hojo and Doctor Lucrecia Crescent as part of Project Jenova S meaning that the subject was injected with Jenova cells in utero. Monitored throughout infancy, childhood, adolescence and adulthood, received the standard Soldier enhancements and mako-treatments. Genetically restructured by the cells injected prenatally which fused with his inherent chromosomes during infancy. Currently comatose, hypotensive, bradycardic. Scheduled to awake by injection of adrenaline and then to be transferred to an insolation unit for quarantine, submerged in hydro-mako-ine solution once ventilation and parenteral nutrition administered."

A click of the professors tongue was all of the approval Grayle would ever receive as the senior researcher pulled on a fresh set of gloves and ignored the awe in the other man's voice. He could scarcely blame him.

„Well, let us proceed. Progress can't be halted!"

The security guards looked at each other with naked fear etched into every line of their faces, the task before them as simple as it was daunting. Restraining Sephiroth was a herculean task, impossible under normal circumstances as some of them, those who had belonged to Soldier long ago, knew better than they cared to.

The professor reached for the syringe in Grayle's hand, flicking it once, twice before reaching for the tube connected to central line emerging from the once general's bare chest. The needle found the catheter and soon the neurostimulant entered the blood stream of the immobile figure. At first nothing happened, the guards standing at alert around the table, ready to intervene. Grayle and Akira remained poised and exchanged excited looks as they waited the few minutes that it would take for the adrenaline to wake up the silver haired male from his slumber.

„Pressure's increasing, one-seventy over one-ten diastolic. He's tachycardic," Grayle pressed out, looking at the professor who only nodded.

„It was to be expected. Professor Hojo's notes explain that both his temperature, heart rate, blood pressure and metabolism operate on much higher scales than those of a human."

„Thirty seconds, gentlemen," Grayle said to the guards.

It only took twenty-three.

Black lashes fluttered, revealing unearthly gleaming green irises and slitted pupils. They glowed with the mako in his cells as the no longer immobile or unconscious soldier flew into instantaneous and instinctive action. Grayle gasped, as eyes levelled with his and he felt his own widen in horror.

A feral smile on too angelic features and demonic face the last thing he saw before a sickening crunch echoed through the room and a body, his body, fell lifeless to the floor.


	3. Chapter II

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter I**

* * *

Hell broke lose, there outside her chamber, clear to her waking eyes despite the never dulling pain. Purgatory became full fledged hell as silver no longer lay limp but flew in all directions, catapulted by the sudden jerking of muscle and the instantaneous instinctive reaction of well trained instinct. And all Aerith could do was watch as agony coursed steadily through her veins, her vision no longer blurry as her corneas adapted to their submerged state but still burning though contact with the insipid liquid. The scene to which she bore witness from her enclosure was grotesque and painful to watch as memory of her own thrashing was still fresh. Unlike her, however, the mass of pale muscle and silver tresses was not limp or unresponsive but frighteningly fast in it's reaction. A resounding crack loud enough to reach her ears despite the glass and liquid surrounding her, was sickening to her mind and she watched as the man who had moments before been gloating at her from his place of power, slid to the ground limply as soon as the newly awakened male let go of him. The guards around the table on which he now sat. The remaining scientist reached for a syringe which he plunged in to the neck of the vividly awake man from the back, eliciting an animalistic roar from the violently poised subject.

Aerith cringed from her spectators spot as memories flooded her mind, of steel and prayers and mako coloured eyes with slitted pupils and menacing glares. She froze in her paralysis, her eyes forced still on the living form of her personal nightmare currently struggling against the four men that struggled to securely pin him down. It went to easily, she thought, still fighting her own pain as she watched his proud stature convulse into a series of violent seizures, no doubt due to whatever the black haired hunchback had plunged into his neck. It was not right, none of it. She knew him, even in her desorientated state of agony, she recognised her murderer, the proud warrior whose madness was not his own. She watched in silent desperation as he bucked once more, his muscles twitching involuntarily and silver flying everywhere. They were only thirty feet from where she was suspended in pain and panic and she focused on the only familiar person in this hell, whose lips were locked as tightly as his eyes were open wide, still seizing violently. His head tipped to the side, a waterfall of silver hair cascading over the edge of the table as glowing eyes the colour of the Lifestream met verdant green clouded with horror, compassion and panic all at once.

Inside, she was thrashing, aching. Terrified, not of her murderer whose gaze was locked firmly with hers, silver brows drawn in a desperate attempt to focus while his chest heaved, but of everything else in this strange and altogether terrifying place. She could see confusion and pain play in equal measures on his angelic features just like he could no doubt make out the same emotions on her delicate ones. Suddenly, his body stilled, eyes still fixed stubbornly on hers while his head was forced around and a tube similar to hers shoved down his throat.

Everything about this situation was wrong, unnatural and so utterly and completely wrong, it made her sick, almost more so than the pain that steadily pulsed in her veins and her head. She had been dead, at peace in a place where it was warm and the planet sang. And now she found herself inexplicably alive and in agony, her eyes seeking comfort from the man who had slain her and who looked so wrong in being so powerless. The guards released their hold on Sephiroth and his lack of response to physical freedom of movement almost tore her aching heart apart.

Instead, he was pulled from the table, dragged by two of the guards who were shorter than him and thus buckled under the weight of his muscular frame. As many lines as those that protruded from her body were attached to his, and a tube was secured in his mouth as they dragged him towards her. Aerith noted but cared little for his nakedness, her own as evident in her glass cage, but kept her eyes trailed on his even as he shut them to block out the glow emanating from the glass chamber to her right, no doubt intended to hold him. Unlike hers, it was filled with a luminiscent liquid that, though transparent, glowed too bright with what could only be refined mako. Another jolt of pain shot through her veins and she winced though she could not move.

Two minutes later, the entire ordeal was over. No more than a foot away, behind twin layers of glass separating whatever she was floating in from the glowing solution, Sephiroth was submerged and unmoving safe for open eyes and intense gaze which shifted to her she second laid eyes on him. She felt a surge of something different from pain flow through her veins and saw from her periphery a different solution being emptied into her IV via a mechanical device. Her pain began to dissipate and she shuddered, still unable to move anything but her eyes. A quick look to her right assured her that he had not been granted the same mercy.

Though his eyes were fixed on her, his face remained impassive safe for the tightly set muscle of his jawline that remained clenched. She wondered if he could move, or if he, like her had been paralysed. She would never know, though, she decided but was interrupted in her tired, hazy musings when in front of her, the hunched figure of the scientist who had done this to both her and her murderer appeared. He was clutching a tablet on which he scribbled maniacly while the guards left the laboratory expanse carrying the limp, lifeless body of his aide.

Inside her, fear, terror and anger welled up and she would have thrashed if only she could.

Instead she remained immobile, hands floating limply at her sides while she attempted to burn a hole in the wretched degenerate who looked every bit the narcissistic, twisted scientist who had kept both her and her mother from freedom, with her eyes. She failed, eliciting only a snort. He touched the control panels attached to both cylindrical chambers and she heard him speak through an intercom somehow not impaired by the liquid in which she floated.

„Now. That went better than I expected it to. Casualties limited to a minimum, both subjects awake and suspended in isolation. I had expected more, to be honest, from such extraordinary specimens such as yourselves. The last living Cetra and Jenova Project S – and all I got was a snapped neck and some infernal screams? I'm disappointed, quite frankly. Professor Hojo's notes promised such fun to be had with the pair of you. Oh well, there's still time. You're not going anywhere after all and I have waited patiently for our little meeting."

Aerith felt her skin crawl with more than just numbed, dulled pain, every syllable the man spoke reminiscent of another scientist who had once held her against her will, it felt like aeons ago.

She looked to Sephiroth who remained impassive and immobile, flashing her a look before fixing his gaze on the scientist.

„I have great plans for the both of you, you will be happy to hear. Or not, I couldn't care less. In fact the rough skeleton of the plan stems from your father, did you know, Alpha? Professor Hojo was a brilliant man and he had great hopes for you. They didn't of course, involve you losing your mind and laying waste to the world, but great plans nevertheless. Such potential! And you," he turned to face Aerith whose insides were still cringing at the mere sound of his sleek voice.

„You are marvellous. Intriguing things, Cetras. Such a shame that there aren't any left safe for you. But we will work to change that, with your help. I know, Hojo's plan of breeding you with a canine were fruitless and rather – pardon me – lacking in imagination. But nevertheless, imagine the possibilities. It's tricky, I know, very ambitious, but I'm confident. So you should get familiar with each other, all things considered, get acquainted so to speak. Or not, thinking of the ventilation...best safe conversation for once you come out of, well, there. It's not required for you to get along, but it would make things significantly easier for both of you and by extension me. But well there's time for that once we move on from suspension. You don't mind forty-eight hours just...floating around do you? Oh I have such plans for the pair of you! So many different things with which you will be helping me, isn't it just marvellous? Maybe we'll cure cancer, stop cell-degeneration in humans, find the Promised Land and create Cetra-Jenova hybrids all at once? Not to jinx it!"

The rambling, too smooth voice continuously wanted to make her throw up but she lacked both motor function and stomach content to do so. The almost childish joy emanating from his entire form along side the cold calculation in his eyes was a combination that had her reeling and feeling more exposed than she could ever have in any other situation.

"Now, be good, the both of you, keep your vitals stable while I go check on other things that require my attentions. Not to worry, two days in there while you detox and your bodies get used to functioning again and then we'll move on to some slightly more comfortable arrangements."

The hunched figure backed away from the tubes, tablet clenched tightly against his chest and then turning away and shuffling away, leaving the laboratory desolate and empty safe for her and the equally restrained Sephiroth caged in their respective cylinders.

Silence engulfed her as the intercom still cracked, no voice speaking through, but the steady, strange sounds of monitoring devices reaching her ears. Then, finally, she broke, surrounded by nothing but her own misery and her murderer, who still regarded her through inscrutable eyes. Tears mixed with the solution around her and she tried to thrash again, but failed, as her limbs still felt alien to her, immobile as they were. Aerith's mind screamed, yelled and prayed for the Planet whose whispers were as much part of her as her own voice, to answer her, to save her from the horrors that played in her imagination. Nothing happened, safe for her breathing picking up and her throat constricting around the unwelcome tube that seemed to reach into her lungs, though she could not control the spasm.

Her vision blurred as her chest heaved, faster and shallower still, the convulsions involuntary in her panic. When the world threatened to go dark, she stilled as though calmed by an invisible hand.

 _Stop._

The command was gentle and eerie as the voice was deep and silken and at once she forced herself to stop, it taking all her willpower since her body was still unresponsive to her own impulses. She reached out with her heart, desperate to hear the voice again, that was so strange and yet so comforting. Her eyes darted around the laboratory, looking for a source on which to pin the voice, even though she knew she would find none. It had been in her head, her mind, not out there.

 _Speak again,_ she thought, intently trying to focus on finding the voice now that the pain in her veins was no longer threatening to burn her alive or freeze her to death but merely a dull hum. _Please, I beg you!_

 _I'm afraid conversation is hardly in my power to offer at present. My apologies._

The response followed instantaneously, and for a second, she was certain that she could make out both pain and sarcastic, dry humour dripping from the words, catching her off guard.

Her eyes widened and her gaze flickered to her right, wondering if he could hear it too, or if the Lifestream had simply tried offering her comfort, though it sounded different from the otherworldly song she knew. Had she been in control of her limbs, she would have jumped, startled, not expecting to meet his gaze so freely. His eyes glowed in the semi-dark that surrounded both enclosures, enhanced only by the slight glow of the liquid in which he was submerged. _Can he hear it too, that voice? It's soothing._

If she had expected a reaction from him at all, it hadn't been the one she received. A cocked silver eyebrow followed by a pained expression on chiseled features and what looked like an agonized eye roll were the visual with which she was presented, answering the question of his motor function.

 _Not a word I would use, but yes 'he' can hear it just fine._

Aerith kept her eyes fixed on his feline ones, trying to convey her confusion but failing, fear all she could muster in her inability to move her facial muscles.

 _The paralytics won't last forever, you'll be able to move in time, and when you are, you'll wish you weren't._

 _How do you know? And why would I want to be at their mercy?_ She asked, wondering why the voice sounded so familiar and why it's words made no sense. She wanted to move. To curl up and hide her nakedness from the world.

 _You will be at their mercy either way. But once the paralysis lifts, you'll be acutely aware of the tube in your throat. You will struggle against it, resulting in pain, but will lose the fight. Trust me, I speak out of experience._

 _You've been here? Suffered this? When, where? Please, I need to know!_ Aerith found herself desperate for answers, for the voice to reply, to let her know that she was not alone in this hell.

 _Yes. Right here, right now._

Had her eyelids been hers to command, her eyes would have widened further in shock and realisation as both came to her and dawned on her all at once.

 _You're...Sephiroth?_

She could almost feel a twinge of bitter amusement in her head that wasn't her own but the voice's own.

 _Hello, Miss Gainsborough._


	4. Chapter III

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter III**

* * *

Aerith's eyes were wide and verdant and clashing in violent realisation with iridescent green through glass. In reality, they were but a foot apart but the glass emphasized the isolation to an almost absurd and decidedly painful degree. She struggled to understand, to tolerate and to accept the presence of his voice in her head, speaking to her in her misery, in her restrained desperation. Had he always been able to do that? Had his voice always been so gentle, so deep and silky, so soothing? Had he spoken when he'd impaled her on the length of his glinting blade? And if he had, had his voice called terror to her mind as it should be doing this instant, where he was both her murderer and a victim of the same criminal that held her?

Her mind reeled and again, the voice that she now knew to be his spoke to her benefit.

 _Miss Gainsborough, you will pass out if you do not calm down. Try counting to ten in your head, it should relieve the immediate panic._

She did as she was bid, sensing no malice from the voice and deeming the advice sound. It was something like what Elmyra would have said, granted with less impassiveness and more motherly affection but still.

 _Can you read my thoughts?_ She demanded to know, terrified and mortified at the idea of him roaming her head freely, reading her secrets and learning everything she knew. He had been able to manipulate Cloud like it was nothing, what if he was doing the same to her?

 _Yes and no. I can hear your mind because you want me to. You reached out._

She had, hadn't she? But not for him! And still, it didn't answer her questions about his manipulative prowess.

 _Different time, different circumstances. You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Gainsborough. Currently, I am not your enemy._

Sincerity dropped from every word but she found herself uncaring. She needed something, someone to cling to and if it was her murderer, she didn't care. At this point, what did it all matter?

 _Aerith,_ she pushed. _You put your sword through me, you should use my name._

She could see him nod, again acutely aware of her immobilisation and his motor functions.

 _Why do you get to move while I'm stuck? You're far more dangerous than I am!_ It made no sense! Even if she had had the ability to move, she could hardly have fought either of the men that had held her down and pushed needles into her arms and legs and chest. She was weak, physically, compared to her captors and especially compared to Sephiroth, who had snapped a man's neck the second the had woken up. Not that she could blame him for that, she might have done the same had she been able.

 _True. There are two possible answers to your question and both are equally true. Firstly, I'm not easily drugged. They engineered me to be resistant to most neurotoxins, making it hard to paralyse me, even if it would be wise to do so. Secondly, you're paralysed for your own sake as much as for theirs. If you can't move, you can't hurt yourself accidentally by thrashing around trying to fight intubation._

Aerith listened intently, his words making a sad sort of sense to her cleared mind. Then it dawned on her and again, she would have jerked her head if she could have. He was floating, upright and unmoving, head turned slightly in her direction as his throat muscles flexed and his neck twitched again and again. Her eyes softened slightly and compassion filled her heart as she grasped the harsh reality of the pain in which he had to be. Soldier or not, his face betrayed at least a little pain which in turn meant that he had to be feeling worse than she imagined.

She wanted to reach out, to let him know that she felt for him, despite their convoluted past, but instead she remained immobile as she watched his restraint crumble ever further. Twitch turned to convulsion, turned to spasm, turned hands reaching for the tube, only to realise that he was bound, hands securely fastened to the tank behind his back.

 _They don't care if you hurt yourself!_ She wanted to shout, to yell at him to deny them the satisfaction of seeing him hurting himself like a caged animal.

 _I'm aware, thank you very much. At least Hojo had the wherewithal to keep me comatose._

 _You've been here before?_

She received no answer as she watched his face grow increasingly agitated, struggling against his bonds with as much grace as he could muster, seemingly refusing to lose his self-control even when naked and bound in a glass tube filled with liquid. For a moment, Aerith could almost forget the insane megalomaniac she had known him to be and see the soldier that he had been raised and engineered to be. Always in control, even when he was not.

 _Sleep, Aerith._

The command was gentle and laced with irritation, desperation and pain all at once and no sooner had it been spoken, echoed in her head, than did she begin to feel drowsy. Her conscious mind marvelled at the fact that he had cast a sleep spell on her from where he was, without materia, while he was fighting the tube in his throat. The amounts of energy it must have cost him were unfathomable, and so she was grateful when darkness claimed her mind, carrying her off to a place where there was neither laboratory, nor doctors or nefarious plans, no pain or needles and her limbs could move. She danced, smiling sleepily in her dream.

* * *

No sooner had she gone limp instead of stiff in body, than did his composure break. The foreign yet familiar plastic tube in his trachea burned and his throat did it's worst in trying to push it out, a task at which it failed. Sephiroth trashed as his oesophagus burned, and he summoned every last shred of his self-control to keep from spilling stomach acid into the liquid in which he floated. Cold heat shot through his veins at insane speed, leaving him gasping against the tube and his bonds all at once. He had once sworn that he would never again be at the mercy of men in lab coats rambling about greater goals or brilliant visions. And here he was, not fully aware of how he got here, submerged in water and mako, tied down like an animal and in so much pain, it was hard to endure. As though he had never left, as though he was still the young boy who did as he was bid because he couldn't take the pain he would surely be subjected to should he refuse. Memories replayed before his eyes and an alien feeling of cold, naked terror crept through his veins along with what ever drugs they had given him. A feeling that he had not felt since childhood, fear.

It was eerie and shameful all at once, he thought, how laboratories and men in white lab coats tore at his courage, reminding him in painful, agonising bursts of when he had been the weakest, at the mercy of those who praised his prowess one moment and spoke as though he was not human the next.

When he had been but a boy, a child, the fear he had felt had been trumped by a feeling of pride and purpose. The tests, the experiments, the monitoring – it had all been to help him succeed. It had been part of being special, he had thought, of being with purpose. It had been to test his endurance and his strength and to push him to grow stronger. His hatred of needles and lab-coats and of Hojo had all fuelled his efforts. That had been enough to vanquish fear in a teen-aged boy. But now, here, he had nothing more to prove or strength to gain. He had reached the peak of his capabilities a few years back, transcending human nature and absorbing the Lifestream. He had called Meteor and spilled innocent blood in the process.

Sephiroth commanded his limbs to follow the orders his mind issued without the fervour he wished to, and gradually he stilled, forcing himself to endure rather than fight. No foolish attempt to break the vial that held him would serve him well, of that he was sure.

He had felt what they had done, there on the table outside the tube in which he now struggled to breathe. He had been sedated into a comatose state of being in which he had been uncertain if he had been alive or dead at last. But nevertheless he had felt the steel of the scalpel, he had felt the prodding in his neck and he had felt them lock away his ability to wield magic without materia almost entirely. He had known it moments ago, when it had cost him too much strength to send the frightened girl to sleep so that he could fall to pieces without fear of being seen by she who had been his undoing and whose undoing he had been.

He forced himself to accept the tube in his throat and gradually, the tremors stilled, though discomfort and pain remained. Even the painful realisation that his weakness was his own doing was not dispelled by his acceptance of his momentary frailty. When he'd forced his body into hibernation while his spirit did Jenovas bidding in orchestrating the Reunion of his cells, he'd spent most of his strength. And now that his will was back in his original body, in which the calamity's cells were alight with life but her incessant screeching separated from his mind, he was reduced to what he had been before he had ever searched for godhood. This body, he realised, had never been anything more than he had been when he had been a Soldier. This was not the body he had claimed when he had chased oblivion and dealt death and destruction, but the one with which he had been sparring with Angeal and Genesis and conquered Wutai. This body was strong, inhumanly so, enhanced, fast and trained to perfection. It was his body, the one he had been born into and in which he had become himself and still, it felt strangely alien. Human even. Human tissue fused with alien cells enhanced by mako and countless surgeries, tests and hours spent in training.

And it was weak. Despite it's virtuous strength it was weak in that it lacked the ability to dissimilate into nothingness or accomplish the feats to which he had grown used to. As a consequence he was no more able, at present, to escape the situation than the sleeping girl in the chamber to his left. It was near miraculous that he had even been able to hear her mind call, much less answer.

She looked strangely lifeless, limp in sleep and paralysis, with green eyes wide open and long, brown hair floating around her, hiding at least in part her nakedness from prying eyes. A scar, plain as day to his sharp eyes, ran from under her sternum, between her breasts, to her navel, white and evidence of his sin. His gaze softened ever so slightly, when he remembered seeing her much younger self in the laboratories in which he too had lingered years ago. Her mother had been so protective and he so envious of her. Her father, in stark contrast to his own decrepit version of one, had been a great man and Sephiroth had admired him while he had loathed Hojo with a passion.

He had deserved none of what he had received in the end, and neither had she. Whatever they had planned for him could never be worse than what she would surely suffer at the hands of insane men desperate for the power she wielded. He had once believed to be like her, an Ancient, and the prospect of such power had been too much for his mind to handle. To think of what could happen if men like that strange, decrepit degenerate who resembled Hojo far too much for his liking, got their hands on her power, was unfathomable.

For how long he remained thus, lost in thought while pain still coursed through his veins and his muscles ached, he knew not. Time was essenceless, fleeting and endless all at once. He might even have drifted off to unconsciousness, he couldn't tell, as the pain became more and more intense and agony took hold of his mind, forcing coherent thought to cower along with his muted arrogance.

* * *

The lights had died during the night, the only light illuminating the expanse of the laboratory what was emanated by the instruments surrounding the two glass chambers in which two very different bodies floated motionlessly, seemingly asleep. The monitors displaying their respective vitals were beeping steadily, counting down the time left of their involuntary suspension in isolation. Hour after hour ticked steadily away, both bodies immobile as sleep and self-imposed unconsciousness dominated scared minds and tired muscles. She slept gently, gratefully embracing every second of the spell, while he had given up on fighting the pain in favour of near comatose unawareness around fifteen hours into cold fire running through his veins and threatening to send him screaming internally for the power which he knew to corrupt and which resided in his cells only to lose out to madness yet again. Instead of yielding his self once more, he had opted for oblivion, eyes closed and almost peacefully posed, his lone black wing wrapped protectively around his exposed body. He had been unable to keep the appendage from protruding as it did when he was threatened and thus the feathers shielded him somewhat from the gazes of the scientist and his aides as they returned to the laboratory in the morning.

Neither awoke when the lights were switched on and the displays on their prisons read, charted and changed in settings. Not even when the hunched silhouette of the poised Professor drew up before them, clicking his tongue in what might have been disapproval did any of them stir.

„T minus twelve hours and sixteen minutes. Both subjects seem stable though unconscious in isolation. Proceeding as planned, preparing transfer to holding unit for further study," his slightly nasal voice resounded, being recorded in his notes along with both of his specimen's vitals.

Professor Akira had expected them to be less complacent, wondering if the medication he had induced had been too potent but dismissing the thought the next moment. He had been meticulous in his calculations, nothing less. The waiting period was tedious, he decided, excited for when they had both been transferred into the holding unit and they had started their adaptation period. That was when he could really get to work.

He snickered, shuffling away to complete his paperwork and sign the death certificate for the no longer quite as useful Dr. Grayle.


	5. Chapter IV

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter IV**

* * *

She awoke to the painful sensation of falling. Not far, only a few inches, as the liquid drained from the chamber in which she had floated. She had little idea of how long she had been asleep, but she remembered a silky baritone voice commanding her to do so and blissful darkness taking over where dull pain had lingered before. The ground below her was cold, icy even and wet underneath her as she crumbled, unable to hold her weight. Out of instinct, she tried to soften her fall by reaching out and trying to hold on to something, eyes wide in surprise when she managed, her hand weakly grasping the fabric of someone's clothing. The chamber was open and in the opening, a man in a lab-coat stood, not reacting to her muscles responding with as much joy as she did, though suspicion followed in the wake of her exhilaration.

She blinked as she sat, disoriented and confused, her hand clutching the dark blue fabric of the man's trousers and shaking with exhaustion. Her limbs were stiff and aching from disuse as she was pulled to her feet, tube still lodged in her throat and needles still protruding from her skin. No sooner did she notice the plastic in her throat than did she begin to gag, her movements erratic and involuntary as she buckled under her own weight. She was more dragged and carried than she walking as she approached the nearby operating table where Sephiroth had killed a man not two days ago. Pain shot through her head and hands and feet, every inch of her body acutely aware of her aching muscles and the dissipating paralytic in her bloodstream. She gasped and gagged, struggling against the hand that held her down, as others moved around her face, unclasping the tube before removing the apparatus. With her first gasp of breath, she sobbed and cried, eagerly pulling air into her being of her own accord, her throat burning and stomach acid spilling from her lips as she vomited. Looks of disgust crossed her tormentor's faces and while she was still incapacitated, reeling from the freedom of breath, she felt people pull things onto her.

A few minutes later, she was dressed in white panties and a white cotton dress that was as nondescript as it was innocent, functional and knee length. Long sleeves were too wide on her thin arms and the dress sagged slightly around her midriff where there was little to keep it in shape. Still, she immediately felt overwhelming gratitude for this modicum of modesty and instantly widened her eyes in shock. Why would she be grateful for a piece of clothing when the very same people who had dressed her had also stripped her, drugged her and held her and continued to cause her pain? It made no sense and she found herself scolding her heart for succumbing to their manipulations.

Another needle pierced her skin and she yelped, tears welling in her drying eyes. She could make out the features of the Professor behind a surgical mask and cap, using a syringe to inject a colourless liquid into her veins and then removing the intravenous lines that still connected her body to their machines.

Her head threatened to explode, the pain too intense to bear suddenly and she thought she heard one of the people scurrying around the table on which she now lay unmoving more out of sheer lack of physical power to move than out of complacency, shouting something about something-ine to be given to her for pain relief. At least she hoped for her head and muscles ached and she yearned to breathe without taking in as much agony as she did air.

A few moments later, the pain subsided, replaced by soreness and tenderness that stretched throughout her body. Then she was lifted up and she didn't fight it. Her eyes remained trained on the cylindrical chamber in which Sephiroth remained, eyes closed and black feathered wing protruding from his shoulder blade. Then she lost him out of sight. The only thing that felt vaguely familiar, and strangely comforting snatched from her sight and she panicked.

Aerith struggled, pleading screams tearing from her throat as she was put down in a white room with white walls and no windows. Too non-descript, too empty to comfort her as it yielded nothing to which she could hold on. Then suddenly the door through which she had been carried was gone, nothing but white left to surround her. She immediately took to safety against a wall, pulling her knees to her chest in an effort to shield herself from whatever meant to harm her in this white, cold place. She dared scarcely peak to take in the simple berth, the cot that held neither pillow nor blanket or the small space separated from the main room by a wall but not a door which held a toilet and a sink.

From outside she could make out noises as she cowered, loud discussion and a scream, followed by thrashing against steel. She tried her best to reach out, searching for something, someone to ground here as panic threatened to dull everything anew.

 _Sephiroth_? She tried desperately and tentatively all at once. No response came and yet she refused to give up, sobbing slightly as tears fell from her verdant, bloodshot eyes. _Sephiroth, please, please, answer me. I don't know if you can hear me or if it was all just my mind losing grip but I, Planet, please just say something, anything. It's all white and frightening and cold and I'm scared. I don't care if you killed me or if you're dangerous, please, please just make me sleep again so that I don't have to feel so lost!_

Her prayer grew more intense and more desperate by the second as tears continued to stream from her eyes. No answer was granted and she sobbed, her breathing hitching again and again as the sounds outside stilled. After what felt like hours, the wall was torn open, or the door, whatever it was she knew not, and multiple sets of feet hurried in, followed by a shuffle and scraping sounds before they left again, shutting the wall behind them. Aerith sobbed once more before she dared lift her head slightly to see what they had brought or taken while she had remained immobile. A few feet away, on the floor, a mass of what looked like wet marble and liquid silver lay, moving in regular intervals, that she made out to be breaths. His breathing.

She dropped her arms, remaining otherwise immobile as she watched with guarded eyes. No lines hung from his limps as he lay, sideways and facing away from her, hands and arms twisted behind his back and tied with what looked like a white cable tie. He too had been granted some measure of modesty in the form of a pair of lose, white trousers that seemed to be made of the same cotton as her dress and that hung from his otherwise naked form. Like her hair had been when they had pulled her onto the table before fussing over her, his long strands of silver grey were still damp. Apart from steady breaths made evident by the rise and fall of his shoulders, he didn't move. Aerith watched curiously from her spot, moving just as little.

It was a curious thing, how different he looked, bare chested and with hair still damp. No silver pauldrons or black leather to cloak him in ominous dark, he looked less the nightmare and more the rigid soldier, if the tense muscle of his back and arms was anything to go by. He was barefoot, too, she noticed, wondering if anyone had ever seen him like this and lived to tell the tale. No matter how she found herself appraising him with the not quite as innocent eyes of a young woman as those of a child, she could not tear her gaze from the plastic band around his wrists that seemed so utterly ridiculous. The great Sephiroth restrained by ten inches of plastic – what a ridiculous notion, she thought.

A groan escaped his form and pulled her her thoughts.

„Are you...okay?" she asked, her voice still tentative and slightly rough from lack of use. The question sounded silly even to her, but she still asked it nevertheless.

„Silly girl," the answer resounded, as deep and silky as the voice had in her head, no trace of malice in it despite the derogative. It sounded almost endearing, though she supposed she must be hallucinating.

„Do you...need any help?" she offered still, watching as he tensed his muscles once, twice, flexing again and again until at least the plastic snapped off his wrists and fell to the floor. Wordlessly he flipped onto his back, wincing slightly as he did so, she could see it on his face, the pain.

It wasn't until he had pushed himself into a seated position, legs bent at the knees and feet on the floor, arms resting on his knees and back stretched, that he spoke again, finally turning his head to face her.

„None that you can grant me, unfortunately."

She nodded, still holding eye contact with his peculiar eyes that were all feline and demonic while set in angelic features.

„Are you okay?" he mimicked her inquiry, causing her to look just the slightest bit annoyed that she dared to, considering that he could very well want her dead, despite the evidence to contrary.

„I think so. Sore and confused, but otherwise I'm fine. Or not fine but not hurt. I'm still scared though. I don't understand what they want with me. Or why you haven't killed me yet."

The tension on the silver-haired male's face broke ever so slightly and for a second she thought she could make out the smallest of smiles on his thin lips. It was intriguing and frightening all at once and so she hid her face in her arms again, grateful for her long hair that fell to her waist and the bangs that helped disguise her fear.

„You would be foolish not to be frightened. Of me, however, you need not be scared. You have nothing to fear from me, not any more."

„It's strange, isn't it?" she murmured, smiling ever so slightly as she fought to block out the pain still residing in her muscles. „Before I woke up a few days ago, I was dead. I was conscious in the Lifestream until I was not and suddenly I was in pain and could feel their hands poking and prodding me. I was dead, you killed me, and yet here we are, alive somewhere and you're you and still very different from how I remember you and you're saying that I should be scared but not of you..."

She realised that she was rambling when his eyes widened slightly and a thin, silver eyebrow shot upwards and she instantly cut off the stream of words flowing freely from her lips and felt the blush creeping onto her features.

„Strange does not begin to cover it but it is a start," he replied, before he rose to his feet, keen eyes examining the room while she remained seated. A disdainful snort escaped him seconds later and her eyes fluttered upward to his looming height, towering next to her. „I remember this place. It's different and yet... This used to be an isolation ward in Deepground. It was a medical facility when I was...well long ago, made to take care of wounded Soldier operatives. This ward was used to keep operatives with contagious illnesses separated from others so that disease could be studied and kept from spreading while a vaccine was made."

She listened to his assessment, taking in every word and scanning the barren room for anything to prove his words. She need not have, however, for a moment later, the wall in which the disappearing door had opened, became transparent, almost like glass and three men, two of which were armed, looked at her and her cell mate with impassive faces. The third she recognised as the scientist with the hunched pose and the shuffling walk, the greasy hair and square glasses. The one who reminded her too much of Hojo, the vile degenerate who had once harboured hopes of using her and her mother to find the Promised Land. Her fists immediately closed in anger and she instinctively looked to Sephiroth, who stood, unmoving as a statue, staring with glowing mako eyes at the man who, compared to him, was disgusting to behold.

„Very well done. I believe that we can note your deductive skills to be unharmed by your hibernation Alpha. Deepground has changed slightly though, in that it is now a medical research facility rather than a field hospital. Soldier is no more and thus, does not need a facility as expensive as this any longer." The professor noted something that neither of the captives could make out on his digital chart before he cocked his head slightly sideways and regarded both of them intently.

„Now, moving on. You both made it through isolation with a disappointing lack of resistance. Congratulations. The room in which you find yourselves is a vital part of our research and my method, and will be your home for the foreseeable future. Like I mentioned when you were half-drugged out of your minds, we're conducting a series of experiments in which you, Alpha and Beta, are the main components. Many of these will span many scientific fields at once and as such, will be conducted simultaneously. I won't bother you with details, lest you mess it all up, but I will say that I have waited a long time to have both of you within reach. You are unique, both of you, and as such, you are valuable to me. This is why I have to apply less orthodox measures than I would have liked, believe me, having you comatose would have been much easier, but alas this is not an option. Therefore, I will now explain to you the ground rules of our cooperation."

With every word he said, she felt uneasier and uneasier still, the contents of her stomach despite them being only acid, threatening to spill again if she opened her mouth. His voice crawled under her skin, his nasal intonation sending shivers of disgust down her spine. Worse still were his eyes, black and bloodshot, that regarded her hungrily, like an animal to which she was pray. She much preferred glowing mako green and slitted pupils, she found and turned her face to watch Sephiroth instead.

He remained immobile, hands balled to fists at his sides, posture proud and regal despite his situation. No emotion played on his features and his stare remained intensely aligned with the shorter, greasier male behind the translucent wall.

„Since I require your cooperation, at least to a minimum in the future, I shall reward you for good behaviour. As you see your new home is lacking in comfort, all of which can be earned if only you participate when asked to and remain well behaved subjects in between testing periods. Small implants, adjusted to your genetic signatures will monitor your vitals constantly and alert us to any spikes in violent behaviour. You will be confined to this room which can become significantly less bleak depending on your will to cooperate and your ability to get along which will greatly benefit later experiments. If this approach should fail, we have other options so don't get any hasty ideas. Any questions? Marvellous. Then I shall leave you to it!" The rambling ceased anew and the Professor turned away before halting the motion and shooting his male, immobile test subject a look that was as maniacal as it was sickening,

„Oh and, Alpha, do not disappoint me the way you did father."

And with that, the wall was turned white again, and all that was left was solitude. Aerith dared not move at first but finally managed a whisper.

„He's mad."

Sephiroth turned to her, expression unreadable until he reached up to brush back his bangs and stare at the spot where the scientist had stood moments before and might still be standing, for all they knew.

„Mh, I wonder."

„What?"

„Positive conditioning. It's a sound strategy. He hopes to reinforce good behaviour and over time, program us to respond positively to stimuli because we expect to be rewarded more than we fear being punished."

„So he wants us to want to please him?" she asked, summing up her beliefs while struggling to rise from the floor which was growing cold through her thin dress. Standing up was a painful motion and her limbs protested every movement, making her cringe and twitch as she tested her weight on her feet. She was still sore from the ordeal, the memory of the intubation, the needles and the icy pain shooting through her veins in the crystal chamber and suddenly, the white room with the cot and seemed much more welcoming and she shuddered at the idea.

„Essentially," she heard him say before she felt large hands, warmer than she would have expected, gingerly cupping her shoulders and steadying her. She looked up, noticing how even at full height, he was still a full foot taller than her, making her feel much more delicate than she remembered feeling in her past life. Her brows knit close in thought as she remained there, facing the man who had been her murderer and her comfort in agony, contemplating her options before a sigh escaped her lips.

„Am I ever going to leave this place?" she asked him, her voice losing strength once more, the few exertions too much for her still frail body, as though he had all the answers that she needed.

„I do not know."

„Are you planning on leaving?" she inquired further, whispering more than she was speaking.  
„As soon as I figure out how."

„Will you take me with you when you do?" She summoned all of her waning strength to look up, to search his eyes for sincerity, fear of what he could do to her replaced by comfort in knowing that he was not the one threatening her life and freedom but the one holding her steady on her feet.

„If that is your wish."

„It is."

„Then yes."

„Thank you for the sleep spell the other day."  
„My pleasure."


	6. Chapter V

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter V**

* * *

March 17th, εγλ 0028

„Subject Beta is stable seven days post-awakening, regenerating cells at the rates calculated by Dr. Jacek pre-procedure and showing no signs of persistent physical trauma. The subject's over-all condition is clocked at 83% due to high stress levels and sleep deprivation. Last vital scores measured this morning at eight-fifty-three logged a heart-rate of 51 beats per minute, blood pressure of one-hundred-ten over seventy and a temperature of thirty-six point five. Subject has been prepared for surgery, is restrained, lucid and ready to proceed, Professor Akira."

She wasn't ready. She never was. Not once in seven days since she had been at their mercy had she ever been ready to proceed with any of the strange procedures for which she was routinely dragged from her sanctuary, no longer having the strength to fight them when they came for her. Twice, every day, the door to the white room in would open and reveal either two of the professor's assistents or six soldiers and a doctor, depending which of them they were coming for. And she would start to tremble, her airways constrict and her limbs cease to follow her orders. If it was her they wanted, they would take her, drag her from the room while she sobbed and hissed, struggling to free herself. She had not the courage to face the cold lights and the scalpels and injections with a straight face. Not like him, not like Sephiroth who walked tall and proud every time, casting ever more reassuring glances her way before disappearing out of sight to subject himself to equally painful scrutiny as that which awaited her. How he did it, she did not know.

Her hands were restrained as were her feet, by nylon cuffs while her body was pinned by wide sashes of white that tied her down as much as they could without breaking her bones in the process. A breathing mask was placed over her mouth, supplying the additional oxygen that she knew she would need as soon as the pain set in. And it would set in, of that she was sure. For days she had spent hours of each day restrained and tied down on an operating table while the hunched professor worked away, eager to put down on his charts the results for which he searched. Why she could wield magic without materia, something he had forced her to do in rapid succession for hours until she dropped. From whence her healing powers originated, with which he had forced her to heal wounds inflicted on the only soul who provided her comfort in purgatory, while she shed tears for his pain and her weakness. The professor yearned to learn the scientific code behind her spiritual connection to the Planet, to condense the Planet's whispers to algorithms to be replicated and no matter how she pleaded and cried when the pain became too much, he never ceased to prod and pry.

And it was not the physical pain that had her in tears though it was unbearable at times. Unlike Sephiroth who was immune to most drugs, good or bad, she relished the pain relievers that she was given once their tests were through, though they never quite dulled the ache enough for her to forget it. It was the shame, the humiliation that no amount of morphine would ever erase. The feeling of her naked heart and body being torn apart by people who cared nothing for her well-being or her emotions. The shame when they forced her mind to do what it would do naturally only humbly in prayer, listening on the song that was private, intimate between her and the Planet that was in her spirit as much as she was in it's core. The way they constructed and de-constructed their theories, hurting her physically to elicit a spiritual response, testing not only her but the world in which they lived. She felt violated and hurt and filthy whenever they forced themselves on her mind and threw stimuli at her consciousness to which she had no choice but to respond. Not the invasive surgeries nor the forced exams by the gynaecologist made her feel as raped and violated as the moments in which not even her most secret thoughts were private. She would never be ready for any of it.

„Let us begin then, Beta, shall we?"

And when she felt the needle pierce her skin and the induced trance cloud her mind all she could think of were gleaming green eyes with slitted pupils and a voice that sounded like the wind.

 _Help me._

* * *

April 13th εγλ 0028

It was growing increasingly hard to bear. And to admit that was as close to being sentimental as the once famed general would allow himself to be. Not the pain nor the mocking eyes of a man who was so far beneath him that he should be dirt under his feet, but the way she pleaded with her eyes when they took her and with her heart when she called out for him. At first he had rationalised, labelling her growing attachment to his person nothing but misplaced trust rooted in the fact that he was the only person within the facility whose aim was not to hurt her. But now, weeks later, he was not so sure anymore. And uncertainty, he decided, did not suit him.

When they had first been locked up in the small holding cell with it's white walls and ceiling, it's lack of privacy and it's single hard cot, he had been civil and she had been wary. She had crumbled, prayed and cried only to dry her tears and be silent while he lingered silent and immobile for the most part. They had shared little idle conversation, neither of them particularly skilled at talking small. Too much had been done to and by them over the course of too many lives, too many lines had been crossed past and present for there to be any need for awkward words. Their past entanglement as victim and murderer had grown to be little more than a memory that was mentioned rarely and without scorn when they did speak. It had been clear to him that she saw in him no more her murderer than he in her the puppet's girlfriend. Instead they had silently agreed, no words necessary, to be sources of comfort and escapism to one another though he doubted that she was aware that he needed the warmth of another human being just as much as she did once torture stopped.

There was no fear, only bleak weariness that was chased away be long silences and shared looks in a room that was without distractions. He left her as much privacy as he could when she needed human moments in the secluded part of the cell that served as a bathroom just as she never pointed out the weakness he showed only when he was returned to their shared solitude, bruised and broken by yet another attempt to find out just how much trauma his body could stand before even the calamity's cells could repair the damage they had done. Instead they lingered close enough for comfort, the grateful glimmer in her warm, verdant eyes steadily replaced by something that went deeper but that he knew not quite to label. While her gaze lost it's vibrant warmth the second they came for her, it always returned, slowly and gingerly, once she was back and curled up on the cot, stare locked with his.

 _Help me._

Her voice echoed in his head like a whisper from ages long past when a different voice all together had clawed at his mind, seducing his hand to tear goodness from the world and replace it with corruption. Every time they took her, it lingered. But her voice was not delighted or excited at the prospect of death and destruction but pleading, so innocent that it tore at the very essence of his being, to which he would not admit until it was so plainly obvious that it would be insulting to do so. She was the antithesis to all he had been, to all he was, so utterly misplaced in the hands of people who defiled her worse than his corruption could ever taint her. And she was pleading and he closed his eyes and clenched his fist, allowing himself only this much of an emotional response in her absence before he would resume disciplined stoicism, only ever yielding his guarded aloofness to fulfill wishes that she did not speak nor voice. He would have to regain enough strength and wait for an opportune moment to escape the clutches of these vultures who picked at his bones and threatened to tear her apart before she collapsed. He owed her and he had promised and if for no other reason, though he suspected he would soon have more than that one, he would leave behind this place and take her to freedom.

 _Persevere just a little longer, little girl. And soon, their screams will fill the air and they will beg your forgiveness._

* * *

April 23rd εγλ 0028

She was barely aware of her body being deposited on a surface that was as pristine as she was tainted in her mind, her limbs too numb with perceived pain to move. Tears stained her cheeks and her breathing was ragged as she heard the door shut behind her and footfalls approach her. She knew to that he was making noise on purpose, he had taken to do thus since he had scared her to the point of hysteria by simply appearing out of nowhere while she was still not truly mistress of her mental faculties after a particularly painful testing period. She saw naked feet then her view shifted. Weightlessly she floated, curling up against the warm hardness against which she rested and that was soft to the touch and tinged with silver strands that tickled her sensitive skin.

She nestled closer, for a moment not caring that she was leeching warmth from a man who had the power to snap her neck with a twitch of his finger if only he so desired but who at that moment was all warmth and humanity in a cold world that was her enemy.

Wordlessly, she felt herself being deposited on to a less cold but just as unyielding surface as the one on which she had been lying before she had started floating. Her eyes tried to find the face that she needed to see but all she saw was pale skin that lingered closely, remaining within reach and against her cheek. She was grateful for his silence as she felt him slide onto the cot next to her, emanating a warmth that was so radically contrasting with the cold exterior he presented to the world. He had done so the night before and the one before that, tentatively and ever so slowly, offering her comfort by being warm and human when she needed it to quell the shivers that wrecked her. She too had been kind to him, expending most of her energy to numb the pain in his limbs after they had cut him open to see if his cells would trigger an instinctive response to the threat that differed from that of any sane human being. He had lost control briefly, she knew, feeling his composure slip in her mind and the cold, screeching voice of something so alien that it made her feel sick, urging him to hand over control and return to being the calamity's lover once more.

And she had healed the worst of his wounds, until he had stopped her, grasping her tiny hand in his to still her motions, a simple _no_ all he had spoken. Then she had stopped, and taking a chance, desperately hoping that she would survive the insolence she had planned, she had layn down next to him, offering him whatever comfort he could derive from her. And he had let her. And here they were, lying silently side by side, barely touching, while her trembling grew less violent and her breathing steadier

Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling above that was as white and mocking as the walls and the floors that laughed at her naive assumption that white was the colour of purity and virtue. It was harmless, it was supposed to be.´It was bright and always illuminated, light and whiteness a mockery of her self. She blinked, willing the room to change colour with the opening of her lashes, but nothing happened and she sighed.

„I used to love white," she whispered to the room, to herself and to him if he was listening, which she doubted not. „White lilies...they grew in Midgar..."

„There were no flowers in Midgar."  
The quiet sound of his voice was close to her ear, his head resting on a propped up arm, and in her reminiscence, she scarcely noticed the maiden blush that bepainted her cheek.

„There were. I grew them in the slums."

He didn't answer and within moments she felt her eyelids growing heavy, the exhaustion making itself known to the once cheerful flower girl who now had no flowers and fell asleep reaching out to the Planet for help.

* * *

A/N.: I was overwhelmed by the positive response to this story and thus here you are - three new chapters all at once. As time begins to blur for both Sephiroth and Aerith, I decided it was best to add dates so that at least some guidance is provided. εγλ 0028 is approximately 20 years post-FFVII. This is how long both have been gone from the world in one way or the other. Let me know what you think.


	7. Chapter VI

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter VI**

* * *

May 11th, εγλ 0028

„Proceed with neurostimulation."

„But, Professor – sir – she's tachycardic."

„I said proceed!"

The bellowing voice scarcely reached her ears as she stilled on the table to which she was strapped anew, her sacrificial altar of steel and cold. In her heart threads tore and in her mind a voice cried that wasn't her own. It was ethereal and eerie and so familiar and so saddened as it began to fade and she cried, losing all self-control at the face of loneliness as the voice that was within her became strange and tore itself from her.

The song became a whisper and then a memory as her abused mind screamed for her dear friend not to abandon her and yelled her apologies all at once. But no voice came. Warmth withdrew and she gasped and pleaded. And then she stilled.

„Ventricular fibrilation! We have V-fib! Professor we have to halt the procedure if we're still to have a subject to proceed with."

„Fine! Charge to two-hundred and push one of epi. I'm not done with her yet. So close..."

It all sounded so far away, so unreal as her body was still and her eyes wide open, wondering why the white lights above seemed to welcoming now and mourning the desperate lack of spiritual voice to comfort her as her chest burned.

„Charged, clear!"

Shock wrecked her body and she convulsed involuntarily, gasping at the pain. The screeching sound of the machine that now declared her heart in distress was all the could make out and for a second she noted how similar the sound that named someone dead was to the screeching voice she had heard once in the head of the silver haired general who was not there now, when she died for the second time.

„Again, charge to three-hundred. Clear."

„We have sinus-bradycardia!"

That word, the exclamation of a word she didn't understand was all she heard before the world went dark.

* * *

He heard them bellow outside the white room of torture and he rose from his seated position when something in his head snapped. Ever since he had woken up and seen green eyes stare at him widely through cold glass, it had been there. A thread, tender and fragile but white and different from the other strings in his unconscious mind. And now, unceremoniously, it tore, eliciting a strange feeling of unnamed loss in his heart. The muffled voices outside of his confinement were too scrambled to understand, even his ears not capable of extrapolating meaning from their barking commands. What he did hear though was silence where there had been sobs and screams moments before, a heart wrenching, bone chilling scream the last sound he had been able to make out as hers before hell broke lose and she made no more sounds to reach his ears.

Inwardly he cursed himself and her all the while reaching out to find what was too far gone to be found. Too many days and nights with nothing else but her had made him go soft, it had made his priorities shift when he had sworn to remain level-headed. Sentimentality was not for him and neither was she, that much was painfully obvious. It was simple psychology, he scolded his mind as it threatened to mutiny against his discipline. Prolonged exposure to only one source of comfort while subjected to trauma was the highway to addiction, it was what they had wanted when they had decided to lock them up together when they could have easily been held separate. It was manipulation of the lowest degree and he was not the kind to be manipulated. He scolded himself anew, beginning to understand that knowing the game and being a master manipulator did not mean that he was immune to it's effects. She had grown attached, he had noticed it as soon as it happened. He had kept his distance, knowing that yielding was submitting to disaster, was handing the crazed scientists what they wanted and was setting up for more heartbreak when they left this place behind and discovered that any and all comfort they might feel in each other's presence was linked to promise of torture from all else.

The pathway to hell was paved with good intentions, his heart mocked his mind as it searched still for the severed thread. Dreaming delusional dreams of whatever this was being real and not a psychological ploy.

Sephiroth straightened his pose, dispelling such nonsense from his mind with one forceful swipe of his will that sent the whimsical wishes of his heart quivering. It would be disastrous. No matter how gentle voice or how warm her small hands felt, he could not and would not give in to temptation, not when none of it could be real. It was a ploy, it was psychology and it was, what he did not realise, unavoidable and irrevocable.

Silence pierced the wall as all voices stilled and he tried what any rationally irrational man would. He remained immobile and waited. And then, what felt like hours later, the thread began to reattach, silently.

* * *

May 13th, εγλ 0028

He was waiting, immobile, as the white door opened and revealed three anonymous scientists and her.

She was carried by the largest of the three men, who deposited her just inside the door and quickly stepped back a few paces as he noticed the shift in their second subject's pose. He had been leaning against the wall, eyes closed in contemplation but was now leaning forward, the feral gleam in mako green eyes stark against the whiteness of the walls. The door shut before he could charge forward, if that was really his intention, leaving him alone with a form he had not laid eyes on for two full days. The professor had mocked him, speaking of her fragile state in riddles when continuing his tests with his now extremely hostile subject. Sephiroth had been right in his internal musings. Addiction to comfort had been their plan for him who never had had access to such relief but their plans had not stretched to cover the catastrophic side-effects they would endure should he be deprived of the drug they had forced on him. His detox had been violent as had his actions, killing one, injuring three. He had felt no sorrow for either but anger at himself for letting his composure slip over the absence of a girl who a few weeks prior had been all but inconsequential to him.

And now he found himself flickering around the room, teleporting out of instinct and without noticing, to the side of the girl whose absence had been a mind-altering experience for the lone one-winged angel. She was pale, paler than she had been before, rivalling his own skin in her translucence. But besides her pallor, she looked the same, her bruises all but gone and no new scars added to the few that she had accumulated during their captivity. Her eyes were closed and he found himself almost waiting for her to open them, to make sure that the spark was still there.

Instead he bent down, kneeling next to her immobile form and lifting it up as was his custom, revelling at the feel of her soft skin against his own but resenting the lack of warmth that she emanated.

She stirred as he remained motionless, not quite ready to release her onto the cot. Just one moment of weakness, he assured himself, that was all he was going to allow himself. Just a moment of aching.

„It's gone..." her voice was small and torn-up and so hopeless and it sent an unsuspecting jolt of rage flying through his veins.

„What is?" He forced himself to move, to walk towards the cot, while her arms tentatively and desperately raised to snake around his neck. He closed his eyes, blocking out the pleasant feeling that was about to drive him insane in ways that Jenova's seductive voice never could.

„The song...it left me," her voice was empty and so small and fragile and he understood. He had spent what felt like aeons inside the Lifestream hearing the whispers for himself that he knew to be singing in her core.

„It will return to you," he promised though he knew not if his words were true, „so long as you remain strong."  
She did not reply at first, clinging still to him like a frightened child or a desperate lover, what of which she truly was neither of them knew.

When he bent to place her gently down, she didn't relinquish her hold. When his hands reached for hers to loosen her grip all she did was intertwine her fingers with his and look up at his strange eyes with desperate verdant orbs that screamed at him and pleaded all at once.

„Don't leave me too," she whispered and that was when all his principles and honourable intentions went out the window in favour of instinctive need.

One swift movement was all it took for her to be pulled into strong arms and enveloped in inhuman heat. Stray tendrils of silver silk tickled her nose as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, half lying, half sitting supported by his arms as he held her, one hand entangling in her auburn locks and the other secure around her waist. He didn't speak and neither did she as she closed her eyes. She had no more tears left for her lost song, she had cried them all in the past two days which she had spent in a strange bed in what they called their critical damage unit. No more tears would come, instead she simply lingered, soaking up the warmth he offered so readily and wondering if he would be angry at her for leaving him alone for so long. She had been as acutely aware of her loneliness as the connection snapped. The Planet's song and her awareness of him gone in an instant, with only one returning hours after they had removed her from the operating table.

It had been weak but returning and she had wept and cried. And now, she simply resorted to being, existing within a moment of warmth that she was sure he would blame her for forcing him to grant.

No such thing happened however. Instead she found his fingers toying with a strand of brown hair and the sound of his breathing to be fascinating her senses.

„Sephiroth?" Her voice sounded too scared to her ears when all she had meant for it to sound was inquisitive. She needed him to speak, to explain, to promise that he would not be angry at her or withdraw as she was quite sure that she would not survive it if he left her too. Lines had blurred long ago, the second she heard his voice in her head the first time. Whatever had been mattered little here, where he was warm and calm when she needed him to be.

„You will be the death of me," he murmured and a weak chuckle fell from her lips.

„We're even then."  
„We can never be even but I find myself caring less and less."

And with that he pulled back his head, searching her eyes for something she knew not. All the while she was drowning in jade and chrysocolla, yearning for something she could not label. If he found what he was looking for, she knew not but it became inconsequential as a pained sigh escaped his throat.

„Forgive me."

Before she could ask for what she owed forgiveness her thoughts went quiet and her vision blurred as tender softness fluttered against her lips. Gleaming eyes locked with hers and she gasped, as warmth enveloped her further, holding her still while feathery lips remained firmly locked with hers, urging and prompting, wondering in their stillness until she responded with inquiry with reply. Lips brushed lips and she sighed as her eyes fluttered closed, the intensity of his stare too much to bear. Gentle and tentative and desperate and passionate all at once, she felt the kiss ensnare her senses. When it broke, her eyes remained closed as fingers ghosted across her cheek, leaving behind a maiden blush and swollen lips that beckoned more. And when she opened her eyes to the world again, all she saw were glowing eyes that spoke of pain and pleasure and of dreams long since abandoned.

Months spent in mutual comfort and misery had led to this, formed whatever bond from which actions sprung. Endless pain, physical and emotional. And though rational thought screamed in his mind, decrying his emotional response a farce, Sephiroth found that he no longer cared. Violence was in his nature but for her, just for her, he would reserve gentle touch instead of burnished steel.

* * *

Yeah...so that happened. Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter VII

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter VII**

* * *

May 21st εγλ 0028

A few stolen moments was all he'd allowed himself to take. She had demanded them all without asking, seeking him out when she was brought back too weak to move now that she had no planetary song or spiritual whisper to grant her strength when hers waned. He had yielded his guard, holding her close but refusing to give in further, no more tender kisses following that first one. There was no denying that their gravity had shifted, so many unspoken words and unasked questions left unsaid and unasked in the face of misery and agony when all she needed was someone to hold on to and all he desired was softness to help him forget the harshness.

As they had grown closer, their tormentors had grown rougher. With Aerith's link to the planet devastated by their prying hands, they focused their attention on a different aspect of her person. He caught snippets of conversations and cradled her when she returned, increasingly desperate to escape their clutches. Professor Akira, the devil's spawn, was all but gloating, spewing vile scenarios to rile his still impassive and ever stronger prisoner when conducting his tests during which Sephiroth steadily found himself hiding the strength he was accumulating. Two months it had taken him to be able to command his abilities to an extent that made him confident that the time in purgatory would soon be at an end. It would have to, if he was to make it out without surrendering to the voice that still sung in his veins, promised him power that he was reluctant to take.

He was walking on razor's edge, he found, torn between the need to act, to shield the girl that had grown to be much more than he should ever have allowed her to and the need to keep the calamity from power. He had been down that road once, losing his integrity to power and delusion that plagued him worse than the scalpels and the pain. He'd been spectator to his own madness, aware and yet locked away as he called down peril on a world that had betrayed him. He might still not have forgiven the world for birthing him as it had but he was not about to yield control to a voice so cold and demonic again. No he needed to find the strength that he lacked differently. It was only a matter of time, he knew, before his will would manifest anew.

The door to the sanctuary slid open and he watched her tense in apprehension. The past days had been the worst yet, sending her into fits of shivers when they were done with her and awakening acute urges to spill unworthy blood on white tiles in him. She knew nothing of the voice that sung to him, that clawed at him whenever she was suffering worse than bleak sadness. They spoke little and tales of calamity and vile thoughts were not for innocent ears. He glanced at her before he rose from his place on the cot, to follow the six men waiting to escort him to whatever horror they were to inflict on him now. Impassiveness ruled his features while his mind reverted to thinking of the wrath he was going to unleash on each of the pathetic lifeforms that pretended to rule him and torment what was pristine and pure. A feral gleam surfaced in jaded eyes and proud stance banished sentimentality that was all for her and he stepped forward, determined to show no weakness.

* * *

May 23rd εγλ 0028

She was pulled from the cot where she had remained after he had left earlier, as it had become routine, by rough hands. Aerith struggled little before allowing herself to be lead from her solitary cell, questioning what would happen now. The past days had been a blur of hands and instruments and vile words spoken by viler tongues. Her spiritual link was no longer available to be studied and hence the decrepit professor had taken to a procedure that made her want to vomit the meagre contents of her stomach onto the floor. Today too, it seemed, would be a day dedicated to the bizarre and so utterly disgusting procedure that called for fresh cuts for her to heal, one after the other while the strangers in scrubs tried to isolate the neurological response that triggered her prowess. Had the cuts that she was forced to heal been her own, she might have been able to stand it. But they never were. They had been cuts on people she didn't know, people that soon bled out as the cuts were too many and too deep for her to heal in her current state. The scientist had mocked her, claiming that she needed more incentive it seemed, and promised her to find motivation for her. Twice already she had failed to heal the wounds before they claimed the nameless life offered her to save. And every time she had broken down, praying for the soul that had left the plane of the living due to her inability and each time she had been inconsolable.

Today, however, she felt would be different. She knew not if it was the way the Professor smirked in deranged glee that made her want to scream and thrash or if it was the tension in the clean, surgical room that heralded yet unspoken horrors.

„Beta, how good of you to join us this fine afternoon!"

She didn't reply but could feel the shivers begin to claim her nerves yet again. She would not break, not until she was back in the white room that mocked her, hidden away behind a waterfall of silver silk with a steady heartbeat to calm her. Instead she pushed her chin forward defiantly, glaring at this man whose evil was sickening and corrupting and oh so wrong.

„I have treat for you today, you know, so I suggest that you cheer up."  
The hunched figure in his white coat turned to a table on which lay a long object covered by white linen and fingered the fabric almost lovingly. Behind a screen that might once have been used in a hospital for privacy waited something she could not see but which she had a strong feeling she did not want to know.

„I know that you've lacked incentive to follow through with your tasks but I think that I have found a solution that will please you...or at the very least guarantee your attention."

Excitement rung in his strange, nasal voice and Aerith prayed a silent prayer to the silent Planet, wishing more than ever that it hadn't abandoned her to this hell. Fabric was pulled away and her verdant eyes widened in shock and memory as steel gleamed in too bright light. A blade came into view, long and slender, curved only slightly despite it's length and as pristine as newly forged platinum. She felt bile rise in her throat, the weapon too familiar to her, too acutely reminiscent of times gone by. Pain shot through her abdomen and she clutched the fabric above her belly, as phantom pain reminded her of the scar that told the tale of her death. Her eyes lingered on the blade, that looked so out of place not being wielded by a hand to which it belonged and in the hand of someone unworthy of it's horrific splendour.

„I knew that you would love it! We found it a few days ago, purely coincidentally of course. It is the original blade, the one that was forged for the greatest soldier alive. Magnificent, isn't it? Long and sleek and deadly..." Akira trailed off, leaving Aerith to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. She knew the blade as intimately as she knew it's owner and yet it instilled in her the promise of darkness and death. She knew it to be an extension of his arm rather than a weapon of extreme proportions, whose blade was longer than she was tall.

„It was forged from mithril and imbued with Alpha's cells to link it to him. It's said that he can summon and dismiss it at will but I wonder if it is true since he hasn't done so yet. Still, here it is and so are you."

The screen was shoved aside by an aide, revealing a tilted restraining device to which he was bound, immobilised by steel cuffs rather than plastic or nylon. His eyes found hers immediately, a strange sense of apprehension filling her at the prospect. Then his gaze swerved to land on the blade that was as much a part of him as his beating heart and a barely visible smirk pulled at his lips while his eyes narrowed, gleaming coolly in the glaring light.

„There we have it, the actors of this delightful tragedy! It is almost too beautiful to bear isn't it? But alas we have work to do and thus I would ask you, Beta, to summon your inner strength."

Bony fingers closed around the hilt of the sword that was too long for the man to properly wield and too heavy for him to coordinate. Still he lifted it, a wicked grin on his face. A nameless person in white scrubs attached electrodes to her head, roughly shoving strands of hair aside while she stared at similar sensors stuck onto the chest of the one-winged angel who remained immobile but with eyes fixed on the weapon almost lovingly. And as soon as the sensors were placed, she was shoved forward, stumbling until she almost collided with Sephiroth who remained silent but graced her with a look that ignited confusion in her mind with it's ferocity.

„Let's get started, shall we?"

And the blade touched pale skin, and she felt sick as she realised the extent of the situation. Blood spilled from a shallow cut and her eyes widened, fingers trembled and her breathing hitched. Cut with his own weapon, he was her incentive and her patient. His eyes betrayed no emotion when she searched them apologetically, pleading wordlessly for him to forgive her. Another strike of steel on skin, deeper this time, and blood seeped, running red from pectoral muscle over toned abdomed, ever downwards in it's attempt to escape his veins. It was too much. The weapon that had slain her, making her murderer turned reluctant lover bleed as she was expected to heal away wounds that should never exist. For him to cut himself on the blade that was of his essence was tantamount to sacrilege.

She looked up to see eyes that were impassive still as the third cut formed on collarbone. She snapped, hands flying to hover over cut to banish it from existence, sobs quelling in her throat. She would not fail.

* * *

It was as sick as it was brilliant. He wanted to laugh and tear limb from limb the degenerate that exploited innocent hearts in ways he had long since abandoned. He wanted to tell her that her panic was not real that she need not fear. That he was not in pain, the cuts too shallow too truly hurt. They stung, but the pain was bearable, reminiscent of battle wounds sustained long ago. It was not his pain however that forced her hands to work, he knew, it was the idea of the her death befalling others, though she might not realise it. It was manipulative and it was brilliant and it was exactly what he needed. As she healed cut after sloppy cut, he worked equally tirelessly, rage building behind jaded eyes. The decrepit professor in his arrogance had mentioned only moments ago what was going to be his downfall. The missing puzzle piece to his completion, the only thing that he needed to regain the power he needed to burn this miserable place to the ground now within reach.

The steel sang to him and his blood boiled, no earthly power as potent as his will to clasp blade in hand and wreak havoc upon the world once more. He silenced the screeching, leaving behind his indomitable will and the promise of death and destruction for all who would stand in his way.

Cut after cut it whispered to him, rejoicing in their reunion as shaking hands worked to undo the damage the steel did to it's owner's skin as it was abused by unworthy hands.

He spared her another glance before his now glowing eyes found the profane devil that dared to wield power that was his and only his to own.

„Nothing can save you now."

And then all hell broke lose.

* * *

The Masamune appears within reach of one General Sephiroth and Aerith's past trauma is revisited. Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter VIII

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part I: Trauma**

 **Chapter VIII**

* * *

Some weapons were made carelessly, she decided, watchful eyes trailed on the strangely familiar steel that proceeded to linger over unblemished skin. They were made for careless slaughter by careless men and were but soulless pieces of etched metal. But above such mediocrity were different blades made up of more than just sharpened steel, forged purposefully and for skilled hands that were careful in their consideration of their power. And paragon among such arms, Aerith knew, was the frightful length of singing steel imbued with unadulterated purpose that stilled not five inches from her hand. A strange sensation made itself known to her heart first and her mind last and it almost took from her her breath. To look upon that face with it's terrible, angelic features and eyes burning with dark foreboding and to wish the blade within it's owner's grasp again sent her head reeling, her stomach vaulting. It had been her end, merciless and merciful all at once and yet she wished with all her might for trained fingers to close around the slender hilt and wield the power that she knew them to master.

Despite the Planet's silence in her heart, she felt a flutter of something unknown and intangible within her core and for a moment she wondered what that alien feeling was and from where it came. It was warm and tender and yet terrible and overwhelming and over in an instant. The sound of crystal struck by wind rung true in her ears and her breath hitched, the strange intrusion too intense to bear, burning hot beneath her navel and calling in a language she did not understand to a stranger lingering somewhere she could not see. Her hand twitched from the cut she had been healing to clutch the fabric of her gown above the pale scar that spoke of her death.

Then it dissipated, as quickly as it had come, the whisper, the flutter, the call. Her hand lingered still in place as chaos took over where cool calculation had ruled only seconds ago when steel exchanged abuse for righteous purpose.

* * *

He had known no deceitfully sweeter sound than the solemn call of steel-imbued cell to responding core until he had first heard the ethereal voice of a Cetra girl whisper his name. And still his lips twitched in response to the welcome sensation of his left hand closing around the blade of the sword that called out to him as he wrenched it from the unworthy wielder's grasp. Reunion was once again upon him, the most essential and solemn kind, when power once again surged through burning veins and the temptress screeched anew before he silenced her to savour the feeling of familiar weight in his hand. It was embracing a long lost friend, one that carried a part of him that he had grown to miss while lingering in captivity like a tempest imprisoned.

Raw power surged quickening his heartbeat and within the blink of an eye, he was free of constraints. The second his fingers clasped the hilt of the enormous blade, all but the essence that was imbued in whatever puppets still dwelled in this life, returned to clothe him anew in black and silver, a memory given form and banishing blood stained cloth from his legs. He cared little, however, for the change in attire and more still for the feeling of his power returned to him, a feeling reminiscent of times long gone by when he was strong but yet untainted by madness.

It had been unbearable to wait, to endure while the call to Reunion became ever stronger, he more power he gained. But the only kind of Reunion he had sought was that with the sword that completed him more than the return of revenant clones ever could. He had concealed the strength he had regained until he was sure, until he had felt the unmistakeable song of his cells reverberate inside these unhallowed halls. And now, the moment to act had finally come.

Chaos erupted in the laboratory as aides screeched in terror and the Professor bellowed his commands. Sword in hand, Sephiroth first turned to Aerith, whose eyes were wide with emotion and whose hand still lingered above her navel. His eyes softened ever so slightly and his empty hand came to cup her cheek, while he extended the full length of the sword towards the scientist who froze at the action.

* * *

 _I would have you sleep now and wake up in freedom._

 _No._

 _Run then. Run and hide from sight until I come for you._

 _When will that be? How long would you have me hide like a coward?_

 _I would rather have you be a coward for a few minutes than have to deal with the sorrow you will feel for years if I allow their blood to stain your hands. Go, run, I can conceal you for a short while, use it well. Find a broom closet, a ventilation shaft or the like, anything in which you can hide but into which no grown man can fit. I will find you._

To that she had no argument, though the idea of fleeing, leaving him to wreak havoc did not sit well with her. Still she nodded ever so slightly.

Then, she watched a materia orb in embedded in the hilt of his blade glow ever so slightly and the men and women scrambling around them gaining vapid stares as confusion hit them.

„Go."

Aerith smiled the smallest of pained smiles before she turned from him and towards the door, running on tentative feet while the remaining dozen men and women stared ahead in confusion. As soon as the laboratory door shut behind her, she heard the familiar roar of fire before silence filled her ears. She lingered a second longer, praying silently for all to be well, before she set out to hide away, legs quivering with exhaustion.

* * *

Flames roared around him, producing black smoke reminiscent of a small mountain town and the devastation he had caused and which he continued to replicate within the laboratory. Lifeless bodies lay unmoving on the floor, aides and nurses and accomplices to heinous crime.

Only one bleeding heap of human flesh still moved, dragging across the floor, trying to escape him. Sephiroth found himself wondering if creeping away like that at snail's pace had ever saved anyone or if it was the delusional wish the dying man, certain that, just a few inches further, salvation was waiting.

The Masamune gleamed in the light of the flames that had long since replaced the garish lights that had gone out the minute fire ate away at the fuses. It was coated in blackened blood, spilled purposefully as some had tried to flee and others had fought, picking up weapons that they could barely wield to face his wrath. It had mattered not. Every bullet had been deflected with ease and ever sloppily thrown projectile brushed out of the way with a callous hand. Silver steel had slashed through the air, singing it's crystal song as it soared, tearing all in it's path asunder.

Thirteen, he had counted and now only one remained.

He flickered from his place behind the crawling man to a few inches before him, his face betraying no emotion. He was eager to get it over with, to end the miserable denegerate's life and with it a chapter in his own existence that he would rather forget. To leave behind misery, pain and agony in favour of a simpler life. It was so tempting, almost maddening, the prospect of just living for the sake of living, to explore the wonders of a human life. But before any of that could be, more blood would have to flow.

A gurgling sound came from his already bloodied victim, whose arms and legs were dripping red and whose glasses had shattered the second their owner had clashed to the floor.

For all his eloquence, he had tried to bargain, to talk sense to his judge and jury. But none of his rambling had had any effect save for cementing his fate. Sephiroth cared nothing for the progress of science for which he was allegedly bred or the possibilities that dwelled in his cells or the hope ingrained in those of the Cetra girl. His existence was a special one, he knew, but the times in which he would have taken purpose from that knowledge were over.

The crawl ended before his boots, Sephiroth looking down from glowing eyes on his victim who had been his jailer and his tormentor and again he felt the striking resemblance that this worthless wretch held to a different man with similar opinions. He had long since figured out the connection but cared little for the meaning behind it. If his vengeance was kin-slaying or fratricide, he cared not.

„Please..." a nasal plea echoed in his ears and his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

„Any last words, professor?"  
His voice was steady and silken still, never wavering, even on the precipice of murder. A handy fact, though one he planned never to care for again.

„I...ca...he-lp...you. We...a..re...brothers...aft-er...all..."

A dark chuckle rung from his vocal cords as disgust finally did the deed that vengefulness had wanted to savour. Steel flashed anew before coming down, tip first, to piece through flesh and muscle, scrape against living bone and spill darkened blood in one fell swoop. Life drained from dark, wide eyes and he watched until all light was gone from them. A flick of the wrist cleaned the blood from the sword as he turned away from the corpse.

„I am fatherless and motherless and you are no brother of mine."

* * *

Aerith rested against the cool metal of a ventilation shaft. She had found it only minutes after leaving the laboratory, removing the grate and crawling in to hide herself from view. And then, she had begun to wait.

She was aware of what was happening behind closed doors in the laboratory ward, what horror was reigning supreme within. And while she might once have mourned the loss of human life, however vile it might have been, she could not find it in her to weep for either of the men and women that now bled onto the floor. With the Planet's song stilled within her, a hollow feeling dominated her heart as she thought of the death that _he_ was now dealing. It was painful, to turn to the world for guidance and hear nothing but the echo of her own prayer. It made her feel as though they had taken from her the one thing that kept her alive when all else failed and replaced it with doubt and weakness.

She hugged her knees to her chest as she sat, doing her best to make no sound at all. For a second she thought she heard steps outside of her makeshift sanctuary but they disappeared as soon as they had appeared.

Time seemed to lose it's meaning as she waited for what felt like hours, aching to complete her escape. Lingering within these halls while she was free of greedy clutches was neigh unbearable and she found herself prodding, searching with her mind for that familiar feeling of companionship.

 _Hello? Are you...still there? Please don't abandon me here..._

Suddenly, a metallic sound and the surging of sparks reached her ears and she saw the grate disappearing, sliced through cleanly and falling from it's encasing, revealing the one face she was glad to find her here.

„Silly girl," he offered gently before reaching out to offer her a gloved hand which she grasped immediately. She fought the urge to cry tears of relief and instead gifted her rescuer with a small smile.

„What took you so long?" she accused, the slight tinge of petulance in her voice enough to elicit a dark chuckle from his throat.

„My apologies."

Aerith watched as the long blade disappeared from his grasp, dispelled by his will into non-being until he would have need of it again. She died her best to ignore the splashes of red that tainted his coat and discoloured the tendrils of his hair but could not quite conceal her disapproval.

„You killed them all, didn't you?"

She already knew the answer and still she inquired.

„Yes."

Aerith nodded before sighing and looking up, expectantly at the general whose features were cloaked in varying degrees of impassivity. He cocked his head slightly before unceremoniously bending down and scooping her up to lie in his arms and setting off down the hall.

„I can walk, you know," she offered, resting her head against his chest and looping an arm around his neck.

„I'm aware."

„So there really is no need for you to carry me."

„Will you really deny me this simple pleasure?" He moved swiftly, faster than she could walk, striding through the halls in which carnage met them from time to time which she tried her best not to notice. He had been thorough, she noticed, smelling fire and flame from afar and smoke and ash on his skin.

„I thought you were the villain not the hero," she smiled weakly, exhausting pulling at her mind.

„Mh. I suppose the definition of my role would depend on when one would seek it. A long time ago they called me a hero in Midgar, a demon in Wutai. Then they called me a nightmare in Nibelheim and a villain in the Forgotten City. I wonder, what would you call me now?"

She did not offer an answer right away, mulling it over in her mind as they went through endless corridors before he halted and they question was wiped from her mind.

* * *

„Aerith, look."

Her eyes flickered as he tore her from her thoughts., looking first confused and horrified at him and then softening as the door and the world behind it came into view.

„Can we go there?"

The request was a simple one, and yet loaded in so many ways. He nodded, setting legs in motion. He sword in his hand vanished with a thought and he reached up to hold her securely, carrying her towards where the wind blew freely and moonlight flowed freely. The smell of white hot iron reached his nostrils and he forced back a smile as he walked, the breeze caressing bare skin and eliciting small gasps of pleasure from the girl in his arms that made him chuckle. The image was a strange one, so utterly bizarre, he thought as he watched in guarded awe as rapture ensnared her senses and tears of relief stained her cheeks. The doors let them through and then they were standing outside, the exposed doors behind them all the evidence of the research facility that lay underneath the waste surrounding Midgar. Hidden behind rock formations in a small crater it was perfectly secluded and the world around them suddenly felt so wide and open. Closed-eyed Sephiroth breathed in fresh air and the blood on his hands and in his hair was no longer relevant.

Her heart beat frantically against her ribcage as she watched the wide expanse of sky above her head with eyes reborn and wet with grateful tears. It was cold but she embraced it, the wind nipping at her naked feet a reminder of the world around her. The heavens had frightened her once but now she stared up at them in wonder as she forced the distant memory of screams and terror from her mind. A wide-eyed look showed her angelic features and closed eyes as wind blew in silver tresses and she smiled, an exhausted and yet decidedly joyful smile.

„Is this real? Are we truly free?"

Dark lashes fluttered, revealing twinkling green irises that gleamed with too many guarded emotions to count. A small smile, so foreign on his typically solemn features tugged at his lips and she could have sworn that he sounded relieved when he finally spoke.

„Mh. I wonder. Let us see for ourselves, shall we?"

How could she not nod in agreement when he had held his promise, made when they were still strangers? Freedom still daunting, she smiled her answer and received a dark chuckle in return.

„Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess – we seek it thus, and take to the sky," he murmured and she replied with questioning looks. He just shook his head and she watched as a flutter of feathers enveloped her and a lone, black wing burst from her guardian's shoulder. She marvelled, remembering how they had always believed the feathered appendage to be a part of his corruption. But it was not, simply a part of the strange and guarded man who suddenly carried her skyward, taking flight without fear of the wide open sky.

* * *

A lot happened. Sephiroth faces Reunion with Masamune, Aerith hides away, death is dealt and our pair make their way to freedom. A little love for 'Loveless'? Let me know what you think?


	10. Chapter IX

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part II: Therapy**

 **Chapter IX**

* * *

She dreamt of soft voices singing in tune with the mystic music of the sea. When she had fallen asleep or where, she would never be able to say but in her dream it mattered little. She dreamt of ethereal voices of children and the loving touch of a mother she had all but forgotten while the sun laughed in her ears and the wind wrapped her in comfort. In her dream, the ground beneath her naked feet was warm and sunkissed, soft and yielding, cushioning her step as she trailed through groves and grassy plains with the scent of a thousand different blooming flowers in her nostrils. The song in her ears echoed through her heart and peace radiated from her core, an almost forgotten feeling. And when silver weaved through the earthen tones of her dream like silk spun by delicate hands she searched for gleaming green bleeding light even as the soft song in her ears changed it's tune.

As she woke, however, the only song echoing in her ear was the cacophony of roaring waves crashing against stone. Gone was children's laughter and mother's lullaby, replaced by violent tunes that proclaimed reality's harshness with ever increasing fervour. She knew before she opened her eyes that the song had left her again and her heart ached anew with the loss of her dear friend. Since they had torn them asunder, her spiritual mother and her, the daunted daughter, she had not once dreamt of the Planet. She hadn't dreamt at all while she had lingered in the white room in perpetual agony. Neither nightmares or dreams had plagued her with echoes of fear or false hope. Sleep had been brief reprieve, tainted or enriched by nothing but the solace of a warm touch. The comforting warmth that even now enveloped her. Aerith released a shaky breath, still touched too deeply by this strange and loving dream that had been the first to come to her since her rebirth. It's loss was too acute in the face of her inner loneliness.

When finally she dared to acknowledge her senses and push aside the lingering phantom grief, she searched for comfort in the rhythmic roll of the waves. Her verdant eyes fluttered open gingerly and she blinked once, twice to dispel sleep in its entirety. She was longing to lay eyes on the raging waters that were of the the Planet much like was she. A kindred spirit in the waves, she hoped, a sister or brother even in their mother's silence. Whiteness entered her vision and she screamed, instantly shutting her eyes to the world anew. What cruelty, to instil in her foolish hope! To promise her the stormy sea and then to reveal her torture chamber locked around her anew. Her breath hitched in her throat and she felt her limbs begin to shake against the ground and it's sandy grain. Had there been soft sand in the white room in which she had prayed for death? She could not remember as fear clouded her mind.

Warmth closed around her and the wall against which she must have been leaning in her sleep began to move. It wrapped itself around her waist and she struggled faintly against the heavy restraint while confusion and fear mixed in her blood.

„Open your eyes."

The command was spoken with the authority of a god even as sleep clung to the familiar voice. She shook her head, pleading in a hurried whisper. How could she face the cold, whiteness again when she knew that it brought only pain? Again the voice, dark and foreboding and caressing and calm like the sea she thought to hear, commanded her to see and she surrendered to it's wish, green gracing the world anew. Again, white flowed into her vision and she mewled, a strangled sound while the iron grip around her midriff loosened slightly.

„Tell me, what do you see?"

Her shaky, uneven breathing scarcely allowed her to speak and yet she ceased her mewling in favour of uncertain words. Whiteness was all she saw. White cracked surface and greyish skies and foaming teal crashing against more white stone.

„White...I can't breathe..."

She tried, oh gods she tried, to calm herself enough to speak freely but her breath was all but ragged even as she remained silent. She blinked anew, trembling against the hard warmth that held her.

„You see white stone cliffs. Look at how it has cracked over time, yielding to the whims or wind and weather. It's uneven." She blinked again and the image before her swam, changing slightly to accommodate the silver and green that suddenly appeared above her where she lay. The warmth behind her disappeared and she bemoaned it's loss.

„Underneath you, you feel sand. Tiny fragments of stone and shells carried to shore by the waves that you hear. Close your eyes, listen and breathe."

Again, she did as the voice commanded, trusting in it's wisdom while she could not draw on her own. She listened, praying to hear the sound of waves again instead of the sound of scraping steel and machinery that resonated in her head like an infernal symphony. A roar, a crashing sound and then the roll of water against rock filled her ears and she sighed. It had been there since her dream ended, distorted by terror. She listened further, hearing gulls above her and clinging to the rhythmic dance of the waves. There was no water in her torture chamber. The image began to fade along with the phantom smell of formaldehyde and betadine, replaced by the smell of salt.

Her breathing slowed from it's frantic, hectic chase of air and her trembling ceased. She felt something soft tickle her face as she came to, coaxing her into opening her eyes again. Instantly, a different ocean than the one she heard entered her view, one of molten silver and she blinked again only to see luminescent green bleeding light onto well known features that spoke volumes of concern that she knew that only few had ever seen cloud serenity.

She found him all around her as she lay on cushioning sand that felt grounding as her fit ceased. Legs against hers, arm around her waist even as he remained propped up on a single arm to look down upon her with eyebrows drawn together in unveiled concern.

Images of the night sky and smoke rising from the waste in their wake flitted through her mind and she felt remembrance wash over her like the waves over the stone. There were no more white walls, no more white clad hyenas to hunt her. Instead there was the ocean only a few feet away and familiar warmth around her. She breathed in and out once more before a small, apologetic smile crept onto her face.

„I'm sorry. I didn't...well, I was..."

She never had the chance to finish her sentence before she watched him rise from his position next to her and extend a hand for her to take. She grasped it silently, coming to her feet easily, no pain or soreness from sleeping on the ground impairing her movement.

Instantly, wind blew in her hair, caressing her skin gently and she sighed anew, relishing the feeling that invigorated her. When a hand led her a few steps further across the bright sand and past rocky cliffs, maybe ten or twenty steps, she felt cold kiss her toes. She jumped slightly watching in amazement as the the edge of the water lapped over her bare feet as she reached the shore.

Once more, twice then, the waves rolled in and tickled her feet, spreading a smile across her face as they did.

„Do not apologise for your nightmares."

She looked up to see Sephiroth beside her, relinquishing his hold on her hand as he stared out across the wide expanse of sea across which they had soared.

„I dreamt for the first time since I came back. And the dream was beautiful. It wasn't what scared me," she answered, taking a step further into the water, enjoying the cold against her legs as her toes sank into the wet sand.

„It was when I woke up. The white...," she trailed off, looking to the alabaster cliffs to ascertain her past folly. „It was a memory, that's all."

„They're composed of chalk and flint mainly though you can find quartz if you dig deeper into the cliffs."

She smiled, noting just how much he sounded like a soldier when he recited the facts of the world like others might have mentioned the weather. No matter how long it had been since he had actually served ShinRa, it seemed ingrained into his very being. She laughed a little, earning a raised eyebrow from the general whose boots did not allow him to feel the same life-giving water against his skin. That was her privilege.

„It doesn't matter what they're made of. They're beautiful."

* * *

He watched in confusion as she laughed and smiled ever so slightly while staring off to the northern shoreline that was as white as snow against the stark grey waters below. She was a strange creature, even more so now that there was no threat of pain or agony hanging above her head, though he doubted that she realised her freedom.

„A second ago you were screaming and trashing, mewling and pleading," he noted her folly, following her out until water lapped at her knees and his booted shins. That he would not have been adverse to the sound of her mewling and begging under different circumstances, she needed not know. It seemed that every wave carried away more of her uncertainty as she woke up entirely and he watched as reality crept up on her. The tiny specks of blood that stained her dress caught his attention and he frowned. The garment was horrible enough as it was but was rendered impossible to look at by the stains and it reminded him of the pressing need to procure necessities.

„Where are we exactly? Last I remember we were flying, so I must have fallen sleep half-way."

„One of the islands south of the northern continent. To my knowledge, none of those who could be looking for us have a strong presence here. No mako springs and inhospitable land makes for unattractive soil for greedy minds."

She nodded and continued to stare out over the sea.

„There is a town a few miles south of here."

She needed no further invitation it seemed, for she turned, a smile still firmly in place on her lips and looked up at him, hands clapsed behind her back.

„What are we waiting for then?"

 _For you to realise that you are free and to run for the hills._

* * *

The town of which he had spoken was one that was of little consequence to anyone but it's inhabitants, Aerith found, as she watched from. The houses were made of white washed brick and decked with thick layers of straw. When Sephiroth had carried them both up the cliff with a few flaps of his wing before he withdrew it from view, she had seen it nestled against the edge of the cliff, balancing precariously on the precipice. Around it, all she had been able to see had been highland hills coated in heather and mountains rising in the horizon. She imagined people with weathered faces and sturdy boots working hard to raise upstanding families in this place that was almost mystical in it's lonesome existence. Heather tickled her toes as she stood next to Sephiroth, on a hill about twenty minutes of walking away. He had the look of a tactician on his face and she watched in curiosity. Once upon a time she might have just wandered into town as she was and have expected to be given not a second glance. But such naivete had not survived either the long war she had fought to save the Planet or her death or what followed. In Midgar, blending in would have been easy but in small towns, people knew one another and a young woman who was all but dressed for the weather followed by a strange man with military attitude would rise suspicion.

„We will have to lie, will we not?" she questioned, disliking the notion of dishonesty. The nod that she received in response did nothing to ease her conscience but she pushed it aside.

„If you wish to remain here while we discuss further plans, I see no other way unless of course, that you'd prefer me to annihilate the place and forage what remains."

Horror-stricken she gaped at his serene features and for a moment she was acutely aware that he was not joking. There was no malice in his voice and his words were nothing but a statement of possibility and yet they sent shivers down her spine.

„No!"  
„Then, innocent one, you will have to indulge me."

She sighed and frowned, eliciting a chuckle from his looming form. Then, before she could react, she felt warm lips pressed to her forehead and a warm blush creep to her cheeks. Then he withdrew and proceeded to rid himself of his epaulettes and his boots. How mercurial he was, speaking of slaughtering an entire village as though it wasn't a vile feat but simple option and kissing her forehead the next moment. Still, terror was driven from her system as she watched his garments fall to the ground one by one, until he wore nothing but black underwear. Her blush flared up a little more until confusion trumped attraction.

„What are you doing?"

The clothes formed a pile on the heather-covered ground and he turned to her slightly.

„Humour me," he said, before he summoned a flameto his palm to her confusion and threw it at the pile, watching it burn for a few seconds before he dispelled the fire and conjured ice instead. That too he threw at the garments slicing it in several places. Then he watched the now tattered fabric before retrieving it from the ground and ripping at the seams until it just barely held together and looked nothing like the meticulous leather with shiny clasps. Aerith watched as the last bit of Sephiroth from her memory was destroyed, replaced by something else entirely. He re-donned the worn and battered leather as she watched, a look of wild confusion on her face. The pauldrons he picked up and, walking to the precipice of the cliff, launched far off into the sea. Then he turned to her, a knowing and determined look on his face.

A second later, he a sharp rock had found it's way into his hand and he proceeded to put it against his skin, creating superficial scraped that barely bled but only added to his now less than pristine appearance. She cried out, covering her mouth with her hand when he glared at her disapprovingly. A few cuts and scrapes later, there was all but nothing left of the impeccable soldier and Aerith marvelled. Wordlessly, he abandoned the rock and walked towards her with all the dignity of a god despite his ragged appearance.

„You can heal them later, if you so wish," he conceded and she nodded, remaining perfectly immobile as she felt him reach out for her.

„Why -"  
„A shipwreck, Aerith. These waters are dangerous, wild and treacherous. We could easily have washed ashore and stumbled through heather in search of help."

She understood. A lie, a ruse but one that did not endanger anyone. The townspeople would hardly turn away shipwrecked people. But they had to look the part. She gave a nod of consent and reached for the hem of her dress, only to find that Sephiroth was faster. Kneeling down before her, his hands worked quickly, tearing her dress at the hem and the sleeves, before rubbing dirt on her skin with a gentle motion. An apologetic look was all the excuse he gave before coating his finger in the blood that seeped from one of his newly acquired wounds and smearing it across her shins. She watched him work wordlessly, strangely enjoying the feeling of his surprisingly gentle hands on her skin. He rose and looked at her critically and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks anew. It didn't go noticed, she was certain, as a chuckle reached her ears before he spoke.

„Mh, something is missing."

„What?" she inquired, wondering how she could look any less respectable. Dirt and dust clung to her skin and the dress barely held together now that the flimsy fabric had suffered at his hands.

Then, without warning, she felt herself being pulled into strong arms and lips sealing hers. She gasped slightly at the suddenness of it all. Her eyes fluttered closed as the warm sensation of soft lips moving coaxingly, playfully against her own sent a jolt of warmth to her core. Hands tangled in her hair, toying with the strands as he deepened the kiss, sneaking past her defences easily. She mewled ever so softly, barely hearing the groan she received in response.

„Indulge me, Aerith," he asked anew and she understood then, nodding ever so slightly as she felt her arms move to snake around his neck and his lips seal hers anew. Approval, she could feel radiating from his very being and she felt herself being pushed onto the ground easily. Her hands found strands of silver and buried themselves in their length while she felt his weight hover above her, supported by one arm as the other still continued to tangle her hair haphazardly. Her mind clouded ever further as heat flowed through her veins and her skin was alight. The cold wind was immaterial while her nerves lit up with every touch of calloused fingers. She moaned again when he nipped at her bottom lip and her eyes shot open only to find themselves only an inch from his.

Then, suddenly, he broke away, after what seemed like a too short infinity that had Aerith's mind reeling and her core burning. An indecipherable expression lingered on his features as he remained perfectly immobile above her while she was acutely aware of his weight holding her in place.

„There," he murmured, seemingly satisfied with whatever result his onslaught had achieved.

„Mh?" she inquired, unable to form a coherent sentence yet.

„Your hair. Tangled and messy is much better befitting a shipwrecked woman than a waterfall of pretty curls," he answered.

„All of that...just so that I would look less composed?"  
Disbelief tinged her voice as she spoke of her lack of understanding.  
„Yes," was the answer she was given followed by a whisper. „And because I wanted to."  
Another chuckle escaped his throat and he placed a brief kiss against her lips before withdrawing entirely and rising to stand, pulling her up with him. Her blush raged vibrantly against her pallor and she fought the urge to argue his insanity. Instead she looked down at herself.

„Satisfied now then?"

The question was a loaded one, she could tell from the look that crossed his face and the twitch of his lips before he let out a controlled breath.

„No. But for our story it shall have to do."

* * *

A/N.: An update at last! I was on holiday and away from the internet but alas, here I am again and with new chapters in tow! This particular one had been written and rewritten a total of six times, looking utterly different each time...well some chapters just are like that while others almost write themselves. We're slowly progressing to some more tangible 'Sephirith/Aeriseph' material that is very hard to write. A lot of fun also, but primarily very tricky. Theirs is not an empty, frilly romance in my mind but a deep, almost transcending bond that builds on some very disturbing material. But enough of my ranting. Thank you so much for sticking with me and these two lost puppies, it really means a lot to me. Let me know how you like it so far, I enjoy feedback of all kinds.


	11. Chapter X

**How To Save A Life**

 **Part II: Therapy**

 **Chapter X**

* * *

Aerith found herself standing close to the precipice, hands folded behind her back, staring out over the sea that caressed the calcite cliffs almost lovingly in a tender rhythm. The wind played with her hair, toyed with the chestnut tresses that fell loosely to her waist and swept the rose-coloured muslin fabric of the dress she had been gifted against her legs, flaring out behind her. In her head, for a moment spent in solitude, there was nothing but peace and a seed of hope, planted by the gentle hands of a kind woman with eyes like rain and an aura of familiarity that had shaken the young Ancient to the core and nourished by the comforting and unsettling glow of mako green that scarcely ever left her thoughts.

Aerith threw a look over her shoulder, towards the heart of the island, sweeping past the village a few minutes away and over the heather blooming in the valley. It was a strange place, she found, raw and untouched mostly by the evolution of society, left in many ways the way the planet had created it. There was no mako spring here, her hostess had told her, and thus the world had left the isle to it's own devices and the people who called themselves highlanders would not have it any other way. How odd, to find people who gladly denied themselves the use of many modern technologies in favour of traditional methodology and crafts, after spending so much time in the claws of their opposites, of those who hailed the God of progress. It was unsettling and heart-warming all at once, to the thrust into a world so different from the one she had known and thus she had sought solitude to gather her flurry of thoughts.

Her feet, clad now in summer sandals, had carried her to the edge of the coast of their own accord, halting just before the edge and moving no more. The urge to delve into the large expanse of ancient groves and to climb the rocky ridge in the distance behind her to find mountain lakes and pure streams of water was almost tangible in the air around her and yet she remained, standing perfectly still two feet before the three hundred foot drop into foamy waters. And when the sun finally broke through the grey clouds that had greeted her waking eyes a few hours past, she sighed and closed verdant gaze in supplication of radiant light. The memory of the last few days still lingered fresh in her mind.

 _The cottage on the edge of the town was warm and dry, welcoming with wooden furnishing crafted by skilled hands decades and days ago. The living room smelled of lavender hung to dry above the window and the cup of chamomile tea in her hands was delightfully grounding. The hunter Coilin and his wife Anissa looked like a happy couple from an old story, in their early thirties with kind smiles and faces that told the story of life in a harsh but happy environment. Their clothes, she knew, were hand-sewn and maintained with care, either by Anissa Gray herself or the seamstress in the village. Muslin linen dresses in pastel colours were apparently a favourite of the young woman, who had clad Aerith herself in a particularly pretty gown the colour of budding roses. It was a spring and summer dress, befitting the islands mild weather in the summer afternoons though mornings like this one, in early summer, still were rough when storms were bound for the isle. The couple sat across her on the sofa, waiting patiently for the explanation they had been promised by the deep, silken baritone that haunted her dreams, urging not despite the curious twinkly in the rainy eyes of the other woman, who called up in Aerith a feeling of familiarity that she could not explain. Coilin, a huntsman in the sixth generation with kind brown eyes and dark cropped hair, had come upon them when they had descended into the valley, looking battered and broken, not entirely only due to Sephiroth's schemes. She had been in his arms again, opting to look every part the damsel in distress that she would not allow herself to feel like._

 _It had only taken an hour for the three of them to reach the quaint cottage with the straw decked roof and the whitewashed walls and the green vegetable garden surrounded by fences. And when they had entered the home, she had instantly felt at home, safe and comforted by the smells and the ancient wood planks that stretched throughout the building. And now, washed and clothed by hospitable hands, she felt almost reborn anew, making this her third first birthday._

„ _It was foolish, of course, to trust the captain with our safe voyage," she heard the deceptively silken voice proclaim and she listened with eyes trailed on it's owner. Sephiroth too looked like a new man now that the blood and grime was gone from his complexion and his hair was no longer tangled but falling in soft strands that beckoned her touch. He looked human, almost safe for his bleeding eyes that had long since ensnared the curiosity of their hosts, and behaved as such though the rigidity of his military training would never yield to casual lounging. The dark grey woven trousers hugged his legs almost perfectly, the slightly too short garment ending in leather boots that reached halfway up his shins His chest was hidden by a moss green shirt, that fit him well, with rolled up sleeves to hide that they would have been too short. Aerith smiled, comparing the two men in the room that seemed to stem from different worlds. Coilin was tall, too, but still Sephiroth towered no less than four or five inches over him, with none of the highland roughness to his features or so much as a shade of silver coating his jaw now that he had shaved. Almost a shame, she thought, listening on the conversation she had half missed while lost in her thoughts._

„ _Junon to Icicle Inn...quite a journey with a captain that you didn't know. You should have known better."_

 _„I agree. I would have booked us cabins on an airship but my fiancée is afraid of flying. I was foolish to accept the offer. Six hundred Gil is far too low a price for safe passage."_

 _„Indeed! Six hundred Gil for a voyage half-way across Gaia!"_

 _Aerith caught Anissa staring at her with curious eyes and a gentle smile, while her husband in his highland drawl cursed the hack for the scheming price and spoke in outrage of how they had been happy to escape disaster with their lives intact. How right he truly was, he would never know, but when her eyes flitted to those of the silver haired soldier at her side, she recognised that he too, was contemplating the irony._

 _„Why were you on your way north anyway? Icicle Inn is not your typical holiday destination in the summer, as far as I'm informed."_

 _„We were hoping to elope," she heard the much too calm voice of her strange companion answer, as though he had just spoken of the weather. She felt her cheeks flush with heat and buried her face in the steaming mug of sweet tea, forcing her heart not to somersault but to beat in regular intervals._

 _„Parents disagree with your choice of husband, lass?"_

 _„No parents to disagree on either side, I'm afraid. My father...disappeared before I was born and my mother died in childbirth. Aerith lost her mother too, when she was young and her father was killed by thugs."_

 _She marvelled at how sincere his words sounded. Her father was...indeed killed by lesser men and her mother did die when she was young. So, she supposed, there was truth to his words, though the omittance of details made all that had happened to either parent frightfully trivial. Still, surrendering details of ShinRa and either involvement was hardly a better idea and so she remained silent._

 _„Sad business, such things, I'm sorry. Well, anyway, you're welcome to stay with us until we figure out a way to get you on your way north then."_

 _She saw Sephiroth nodding and for the first time since she had introduced herself and thanked Anissa for the clothes, she spoke up._

 _„I would like to...stay here."_

* * *

 _I know who you are._ The voice of the woman who had just a second ago looked to be a simple person living an even simpler life still echoed in his head. Though the words had not been spoken aloud and were nothing but her thought made audible to his ears, it felt as though she had screamed them at him. There was no malice to be found in the tone of her inner voice, only guarded apprehension. It should not have surprised him, considering the way she had looked at him with strange eyes ever since their arrival says ago.

 _That does not surprise me. I offered my name as introduction._

 _I know what is associated with that name and what it truly means, Sephiroth, Jenova's chosen son._

 _Whatever the significance that you attribute to my name, I want no part of it._

 _History remembers your disappearance with confusion but the Planet remembers your treachery and your corruption well, harbinger. Why do you walk the earth again? What destruction do you bring?_

Sephiroth made no movement nor did his face decry any particular emotion. Instead it remained blank, collected and calm as ever as he looked down at the woman whose blue eyes held wisdom that was far beyond her age and that he ought to curse himself for not seeing before. Her husband had left the building, to inquire after the village elders who had to bless his and Aerith's stay. For a second he contemplated severing the auburn head from her shoulders, swiftly and silently, but did away with the thought just as fast. Once upon a time he would have had no qualms in doing so, but now, that his clarity of mind was secured by his will to be uncorrupted, he did not wish any harm upon the woman who spoke to him in his mind with the authority of the storm and the wisdom of the earth. Realisation was upon him faster than a stroke of lightning and he felt his lip twitch as he broke away from his interlocked gaze to stare out of the window and look upon the silhouette of the only other woman he knew could wield such power through her inheritance.

 _I would not have it forget my sin, as I carry it with me still. I breathe to find purpose in salvation, to exist for the sake of existing, not to call doom upon the Planet or it's children. I bring nothing for you to fear, should you opt to stay out of my way, Ancient._

 _I am no ancient, my blood is too diluted for me to bear that title though the gifts of my lost ancestors still are strong within me. As for you however, there is darkness in you still, that could all too easily become consuming night. I would not have you destroy this place._

 _I have no wish to yield to the power in my veins, of that you may rest assured. I seek neither glory nor dishonour for myself._

 _What of her? When did the murderer become his victims guardian?_

 _When far darker evils than my own threatened not only my life but hers. I will not impart details of her suffering or my own, but you should know that neither of us is what we once were when our roles were clearly defined by fate and choice alike._

 _She is aware of the darkness within you?_

 _I never claimed to be anyone but myself in my truest nature and she came to me for solace in the face of despair either way._

Still his eyes lingered on the rose-clad woman standing outside, hair blowing in the wind as she stared heavenward. Was she aware of the kinship she shared with this strange woman? And if she was not, was it his place to impart such knowledge?

 _No. Her bond with the Planet is all but severed. She will learn, in time, as she heals, of my existence._

 _My silence for yours._

„You drive a hard bargain, Sephiroth Crescent. I shall keep an eye on you – for her sake and that of us all."

„My loyalty to her. Do not betray her, Anissa Grey, and I shall no threat to you or this place that you hold dear. She deserves a life that is her own."

„I could not agree more."

* * *

She seemed oblivious to his approach though he knew better than to trust the stillness of her stance to mean unawareness. Thus, unwilling to break the spell of her contemplation, he remained where he was, looking skyward to the now blue canopy tinged with feathery white. The sun had broken the cover of grey clouds as morning turned to midday and now the isle was bathed in sunlight that instantly made the sharp edges of the centre ridge look less apprehensive and intensified the myriad of colours of the wild flowers. Like them, Aerith seemed to glow with new vigour, despite the many conflicting emotions he could feel when he reached out for her mind, on which he no longer wished to intrude so easily. The six days spent trespassing on the Gray's hospitality had done more than restore tired bodies to new vigour or heal the last scrapes and bruises. Their hostess had kept the oblivious Ancient busy, showing her around the town and the closest grove, telling her stories of the land and it's people that Aerith smiled at with benevolence. He had watched her, from time to time, as she followed Mrs. Gray on her errands and introduced herself to the tightly knit community with kind smiles and sweet words. It had been strange, to say the least, to witness how easily she fit in with people who were so different in their inheritance and purpose from her. All took to her effortlessly, gravitating towards her youthful and somewhat unearthly grace naturally. All the while he lingered on the side of caution, demons still very much clouding whatever hope the prospect of a free life had kindled.

„A week ago, I was cowering in fear in a cage. And today I'm here, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. I felt so lost when we came here, desperate and frightened and now..."

Her voice was eerie as it reached his ear, pulling him from his thoughts, lacking in the sadness or weariness he would have expected as it trailed off. She did not move as she spoke but continued to stare out across the ocean.

„Mh."

When finally she did turn around, there was a genuine smile gracing her lips, brightening her already lively eyes.

„I think that it's because the Lifestream is so close here."

„Does it speak to you again then?"

„Not quite. But sometimes, when I listen closely, I think I can hear it whisper."

He felt himself nod, relief washing over him like the waves below over the rocks. He felt the urge to speak of his discovery of her spiritual sister but refrained from breaking his promise despite his want to see her face as she realised.

„You don't have to stay here with me, you know," she said and he looked up to see her taking careful steps towards him her smile a little less bright by the time she halted within his reach. „You promised to take me with you when you left. You did. So you don't have to stay with me anymore."

„Is that so?"

She was right, he had done all he had promised to do. Their ways could easily part here and he could leave her to a life that was her own, just like he had originally intended. Ít would be kinder, in many ways, to leave her here to grow happy, to find her way back to life as it ought to be, free of agony and torture. She would fall in love and marry, have children and be a mother. She would spend her life among people who would become, in time, family and live out her days in happiness. She would be happy on this island where nature still ruled supreme and where ShinRa and their dogs could never quite reach her. The image was clear in his mind and yet more disturbing than any distorted nightmare. A selfish notion, befitting his person. He shook his head to clear the thought from his mind and to instil resolve. Still, he was reluctant to turn around and leave, a lingering feeling of duty and bond holding him firmly rooted to the ground as she stood only inches from him, smiling sadly up at him, hope brightly burning in her green eyes.

„Yes. Although I do have a wish..."

„Only one?"

He found himself aching to hear what it was that her heart desired, wondering if it was something he could grant. Far more so than the thought of taking flight once more and leaving her behind here.

Her hands knotted together in a display of nervous eagerness and he could have sworn that he could hear her heartbeat quickening and see her cheeks blush.

„Well...actually I have many tiny wishes. Twenty-eight, to be exact. But I know that you won't remember them all, so I out them all together into one: I'd like for you to stay...even though I know that you probably want to leave."

„How little you know of my desires."

Truly, she knew nothing, he found, chuckling darkly at the realisation that the object of his fledgling desires and the focus of his newborn hope, was ignorant to the role she played in his smithee of plans.

„Do you think that they will let us stay for good?"

Once again the analyst trumped the hopeful simpleton in his mind and he shrugged in contemplation. In a week he had learned much of the traditions and ancient laws that governed this peculiar island and it's people but even more remained still hidden from his piercing gaze. If they were to stay, there would be many rules to which they would have to conform, many customs to observe. The highlanders were careful people, suspicious of outsiders though they had opened to the flower girl from Midgar so fast. Of him they were wary, his appearance enough to command respect from the adults who would rather theirs be earned than given by the laws of nature alone. Yet he had been met with only careful curiosity and thinly veiled suspicion followed by hospitable manners and well-bred words.

„We shall see. I can be very convincing, though they like you better."

He smiled, the twitching of his lips spilling mischief onto angelic features. She giggled, eyes twinkling.

„You scare them. Maybe if you smiled more...they would trust you more."

„Noted."

Yet again a silver eyebrow quirked in mock annoyance at the woman who giggled like a school girl before him. No matter how becoming her laugh, the very idea of him smiling out of obligation to strangers was ridiculous, history considered.

„I have another wish, you know," she finally said, carefully, giggles stifled and head cocked sideways slightly as she fidgeted with her fingers.

„So eager – what is it?"

„I'd like for you to kiss me again."

Not a second later, he found himself bending down as his hands reached out to pull her closer, resting on her shoulders as he watched anticipation spread on her features.

„Granted."

Then he felt silky skin under his own lips, her bangs tickling his nose as he kissed her forehead affectionately, a thought in his mind conceived by possibility. When he drew away, he saw confusion play on pretty features and lifted a now perpetually ungloved hand to caress the blush that lingered on her cheek. A smirk drew up on his features, the irony of it all finally too much.

„Much too eager...for a girl who has already stolen my first kiss."

* * *

Late update, apologies. Thanks so much for your kind reviews, especially to the one faithful reader who keeps writing me some. I really do appreciate them.


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